Electric Dreamers
by Twisted Structures
Summary: During the 22nd century, robots were advanced into a new phase – a being resembling humans called 'Replicants'. 'Blade Runners' were ordered to cull any on sight. Eventual RusCan. Bigger description inside. DISCONTINUED - INFO INSIDE.
1. Prologue: Voight Kampff

_Description:_ Early in the twenty second century, scientists that worked for the famous Heinrich Corporation advanced robot and android evolution into the 'Nexus' phase – a being virtually identical to humans that was known as a 'Replicant' or 'Nexus Six'. These replicants were superior in strength and agility, as well as at least equal in intelligence to the genetic engineers that created them.

Nexus-grade replicants were used on Off-planet colonies (referred to as '_Off-shore_ Colonies') as slave labor during the process of exploring, terraforming and eventually colonising dangerous and hazardous planets in the solar system. After a bloody mutiny by several hundred Nexus-Five combat-grade replicants in the mid twenty-third century they became illegal on Earth – under penalty of death.

Special police squads – known as 'Blade Runner Units' – had orders to shoot to kill any trespassing replicant androids after a thorough examination using what was deemed appropriate methods. This technique developed over the decades that followed until the Blade Runners late twenty-third century had the technique perfected, and the method of killing the early Nexus Six replicants down to an art form.

This was not called murder.

This was called 'retirement'.

...

_Warnings:_ Violence (rating will go up in later chapters), Genderbends (fem!Italy, fem!Canada). This is Blade Runner with Hetalia characters, more or less. I know, I know; I should be shot.

_Disclaimer:_ Everything belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya, Phillip K. Dick and Ridley Scott. I just own their works' bastard spawn. XD

_**NOTICE!** This is a prologue, which will become relevant later. Ivan is in the next chapter, so read this and feel free to stick around~_

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><p><em>Prologue: Voight-Kampff<em>

By no means was this a large or comfortable room.

It was small and cramped, with little lighting and a window that gave as much light as an empty matchbox. Alfred grinned as he looked around, adjusting the small eye monitor to line up with the right eye of the man sitting in front of him. He smiled, knowing that if Francis were here he would have quickly complained about the room's total and utter lack of décor. Finishing the final adjustment of the machine, whose lunch box sized, metal container had the name 'VOIGHT-KAMPFF' emblazoned on it's top. He looked at the machine fondly. _Well, of course I'm going to look at this machine fondly,_ Alfred thought, running his calloused fingers along the print; _This little machine lines my wallet and puts those dirty replicants into retirement._

"Like, is it okay if I talk?"

He blinked for a moment, mildly annoyed. After a moment, he decided to ignore the man's question in favour of ensuring that the eye monitor was properly adjusted to the younger's eye level.

"Sorry, but I get totally nervous when I have to take tests."

Alfred clenched his teeth in annoyance.

"Just don't move. This is a delicate process, okay?"

"Okay, sorry", the other grumbled quietly, folding his arms over his chest. After a moment of concentration, he could not help but to break into a sheepish smile. He cleared his throat, inspecting the nails on his left hand. He dusted his hand on his grey dress shirt, hesitating for a moment. He inhaled deeply before breaking the silence once more.

"I, like, already had one of those I.Q. tests this year. I don't think I've _ever_ had a-"

"Mr. Feliks Łukasiewicz, correct?"

"Yeah, but like I was saying-"

"Sir, reaction time is always a factor in the Voight-Kampff test, so for the love of _Christ_ try to pay attention. Answer the questions I'm going to ask you as quickly as you can."

"Uhh", Feliks contemplated this for a moment, twiddling his thumbs as though he were little more than a chickenhead.

"Sure, whatever."

"Good. Now, one eight seven at Hunterwasser-"

"That's, like, the hotel."

Now it was Feliks' turn to interrupt. He looked down at the Voight-Kampff machine, inspecting it as his counterpart had done only moments before. (Albeit facing the machine from a different side.) Feliks looked up, anticipating the other's response. Momentarily caught off guard, Alfred simply looked at him with a perplexed expression. Shaking his head and trying to convince himself that he was _not_ a chickenhead, he moved on.

"Wha- oh, never mind. Is it a nice place, where you live?"

"Yeah, I guess..." Feliks drifted off into space for a moment before continuing.

"Is that part of the test, Runner Jones?"

Alfred shook his head, smiling patronisingly at him.

"Just a warm up, Mr. Łukasiewicz."

"Oh, it's-"

"You're in a desert, and you're walking along in the sand when all of a sudden you see a small-"

"Which dessert, sir?"

Alfred's eye twitched. _Is this man an anthead, or a halfwit or something? _He thought silently.

"It doesn't make a damn difference what dessert it is. It's a hypothetical question; it'll probably never happen." Alfred said, gritting his teeth and using every ounce of strength he had to not strangle the annoying chickenhead that sat before him. _I swear, I'm going to kick this bastard right in his pretty, little effeminate face._

"Okay, but why would I be in some totally lame desert?"

"I don't know, maybe you got fed up with your life, maybe you wanted to be by yourself for a little while. Who knows? So you look down and see a small tortoise. It's crawling towards you when-"

"Sorry, but I totally have no idea what you're talking about."

"Wha- what's gotten you confused now?"

"Well... I don't know what a tortoise even is for starters, Runner Jones."

...

...

_Really. Really, Feliks?_

Alfred was not a saint, and he did not plan on ever becoming a martyr.

He drank, smoked occasionally and, before he met his fiancée, had no plans on even being in a committed relationship. When it came to his job as a Blade Runner, however, he took things very seriously. Sure, he would occasionally drift off into space, but he would always give his full attention when it mattered. When he was performing the Voight-Kampff test he had always made sure that he was patient and as calm as possible so that he as the questioner could observe the responder's non-verbal cues – blushing, pupil dilation, et cetera. He owed it to the person in question, to the City and to himself. It was his job; his duty as a Blade Runner.

But this little jerkass was _getting on his last goddamned nerve_.

Feliks seemed to sense this, which was obvious in his next statement.

"I get what you mean, though."

"So", Alfred began, more loudly than he had expected to.

"You reach down and flip the tortoise over on its back, Feliks."

Alfred kept an eye on Feliks, checking for any changes on the dials on the machine in front of him. One of the dials' needles flickered slightly, causing Alfred to raise an eyebrow.

"Do people, like, write these questions down for you? Or do you, like, make them yourself?"

_Just ignore him_, he mentally told himself.

"The tortoise is laying on its hard back, its belly baking in the hot desert sun, beating its stubby legs trying to turn itself over. But it can't without your help. But you don't help it."

Feliks' upper lip quivered.

"What do you mean, I'm totally not helping the tortoise?"

"I mean that you aren't helping the tortoise at all! Why aren't you helping it, Feliks? Why?"

Feliks appeared at that moment to be flushed with anger, his hands balled into tight fists; his knuckles turning white. Alfred could hear his breathing deepen with pent-up anger. To any casual onlooker Feliks might have looked as though he, despite his small, girlish figure was about to become physically violent towards Alfred. Thankfully, the doors to the small office were closed – the windows were too high up and too small for anyone to see scene within. Alfred smiled disarmingly.

"Ah, Mr. Łukasiewicz, they're just questions. To answer to your previous query, the questions are written down for me. It's a test, designed solely to provoke an emotional response."

Feliks glared at him, though his anger had subsided substantially. Looking slightly sunken, he gestured that Alfred might as well continue the test. He frowned suspiciously as Alfred did so.

"Describe to me in single words _only_ the good things that come into your mind when you think about your mother, Feliks."

"My... my m-mother?"

It was clear to everyone involved that by this point Feliks was thoroughly shocked and surprised. Alfred silently noted that none of the needles in the Voight-Kampff machine hadn't so much as twitched. _Oh, Christ, _he thought in horror; _This isn't a chicken head – this is a Replicant_. Alfred instinctively reached for the gun on the inside of his coat. Feliks for all his small size was much faster, pulling out a laser firing gun. He aimed at Alfred, grinning menacingly.

His laser burned a hole the size of a quarter through Alfred's shoulder in an explosion that sounded like a cannon blast and lit up the room as though he had released a firework. Unlike what one would expect from a bullet the laser caused no real impact, making no real sound. It went through Alfred's right shoulder and exited through his back. The wall behind Alfred's seat collapsed as he was flung through it form the blast, flopping in his seat as though he was a crude rag doll.

Feliks had already begun to walk away as though nothing had happened. Before he did, though, he decided to do something dramatic – something the Blade Runner would remember him by.

Turning, and with a small smile of satisfaction, he whispered something that only he and the semi-conscious Alfred could hear.

"Why the hell would I talk about something that I've never had?"

* * *

><p><em>Author's Note:<em> Okay, so I know I should be working on Terra Australis, but I just really wanted to do this. Sorry~

I know, Evil!Poland is so OOC, but I can't have him loving ponies and the like, now can I? Okay, I think that for the sake of all the non-Blade Runner loving Hetalia fans, I should put a small glossary of terms and a character guide at the end of each chapter, da?

Terms–

**Chickenhead;**

This is a term for people in the _Blade Runner/Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?_ Universe that, after World War Terminus (World War Three), have suffered radiation poisoning related genetic mutations and are more-or-less halfwits. _Antheads_ are those who have suffered the same fate to an even further extent.

Becoming a chickenhead can occur on Earth in this 'Verse because of the irradiated atmosphere after WW3.

**Voight-Kampff Test Machine;**

This machine basically tests to see if the person in question is a human life form or an Android. It aids Blade Runners in picking up on non-verbal cues such as blushing, involuntary pupil dilation (hence the eye monitors), etc. It is also a psychological evaluation, which focuses on the life experience of a human or android.

**Blade Runner(s);**

Blade Runners are similar to high-ranking police officers and, depending on one's opinion on them, hit men. They are hired by the police and the government to weed out and "retire" (see: kill) any Androids that have escaped from the human offshore (see: off-world) colonies.

_Fun Fact:_ According to the creators of the movie and the novel, they are called Blade Runners simply because _it sounds cool_.

Character Guide:

**Holden** - America (Alfred F. Jones)

**Leon (Nexus 6)** - Poland (Feliks Łukasiewicz)


	2. Chapter 1: The Two 'Retirements'

Chapter One: The Two 'Retirements'.

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing, sadly. Every character and every concept here belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya, Phillip K. Dick and Ridley Scott. c:

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><p>"Attention supervisory personnel! We need you! Lots of opportunity! Automatic advancement and top pay! We need you! Special incentives! ..."<p>

The cacophonous rambling that the blimp was shouting was unmistakable. Many people tried their hardest to keep walking; tried to ignore the advertisement. They kept pushing through the overcrowded street, trying to reach their destinations as quickly as possible. The advertisement blimp's rambling continued as a tall, young man pushed his way through the crowd. He took a moment to catch his breath, adjusting his scarf before walking into the small Chinese restaurant. After a momentary pause for thought, he continued inside, sitting down at the long bench filled with people. He opened his menu, biting the inside of his cheek in contemplation.

The advertisement still continued, belting all around the east portion of the suburb, shaking the small restaurant.

"The Väinämöinen-Oxenstierna colony wants supervisory recruits and families. Join us in a clean, fresh environment featuring the invigorating twentieth century California climate!

If you meet all of the health and experience qualifications for the Offshore Emigration Programs... the standard OSE short form then there's a place for you at the Väinämöinen-Oxenstierna Colony! Give yourself a brand new world! We need you..."

The blimp's voice faded as it slowly drifted to a different part of the city to annoy the occupants of the next suburb over.

After about ten minutes, a waitress headed towards him. Recognition flared in her face, and she spun on her heel, almost running to the kitchen. She slammed the door behind her, and after a few seconds there were several cries of loud, possibly curse-laden, Chinese. There was a loud cry that echoed through the restaurant, making several people who were calmly eating their food turn around in curiosity. There was a loud shout.

Knowing a small amount of Chinese, the young man was hurt to discover that he was effectively called a 'creepy, Blade Runner bastard', by what he assumed to be the proprietor. The door that led to the kitchen reopened after a moment or two, and a young man wearing a white apron emerged, panting and walking quickly towards him. He scowled, weaving through the people with a sharp kitchen knife in his hand, the traces of food he was just preparing sticking to the side. The younger, if taller, looked at his face with pure enjoyment, finding his current state of disarray to be nothing short of hilarious.

"What do you want now, Braginski?"

"Oh, Yao-yak. We've known each other long enough for you to call me Ivan. I've told you that many, many times", Ivan said with a childish laugh.

"Just get something to eat and get the hell out of my restaurant, you creepy murderer."

Ivan was taken aback. Genuinely hurt, he sunk a little in his seat. Looking up at Yao, he swallowed uneasily. Yao sighed, putting his knife on the bench and making eye contact with Ivan. Ivan inhaled loudly, sitting up slightly straighter.

"You think I'm a murderer, Mr. Wang?"

Yao could tell by his suddenly formal tone that Ivan was incredibly angry.

"Would you prefer it if there were several hundred Nexus models running around and creating havoc here on this dying hole, hmm? If me doing my job and retiring these androids makes me a murderer, then so be it, da? Besides, I'm already in early retirement."

Yao blinked.

"You know that wasn't what I meant to say, Ivan. Look, I don't have time to argue with you. As you can see, I have hungry customers and low staff. Just don't break the plumbing like you did last time, okay?"

Yao turned around on one heel, knife in hand, running back to the kitchen. Stomach growling, Ivan turned around and looked back at the menu. Ahh, yes, he thought with a smile. I think I'll have the fish today, with a fifth of vodka.

"What you like eat today here, mister?"

A young boy no older than sixteen looked up at him, grinning. Ivan gave no response for a moment. The boy took this as him simply not listening to what he had to say.

"Excuse-a-me, mister. I ask, what you like eat today, da-ze?"

Ivan chuckled at the boy's broken English. He was reminded of when he first reached America, and how bad his English was. He continued to smile, knowing that the boy would not be able to fully grasp his response if he were to answer in English. He opened the menu, turning it towards the boy and pointing at the image of the food he wanted to order. He then proceeded to hold up four fingers, clearly gesturing that he wanted four pieces of the fish. The boy nodded eagerly, holding up two fingers. Ivan sighed, shaking his head and holding up four fingers. The boy nodded, heading towards the kitchen once more.

Whap!

The young boy noisily placed a bowl of rice in front of Ivan, as well as a glass of vodka. He then proceeded to place two pieces of fish in front of Ivan in a separate bowl. Ivan blinked, taking a moment to register what he had just been served. His right eye twitched several times when it finally hit him.

Two pieces of fish.

Two. Pieces. Of. Fish.

Ivan's nostrils flared and his eyes widened. He took a moment and a deep breath, before trying to attract the young boy's attention. He noticed the boy's name tag clearly read 'IM YONG SOO'. He decided that the best way to get the boy's attention would be to shout out his name. He shouted across the restaurant, which was surprisingly common on that day, and the boy turned out.

"What happen?" He shouted back at Ivan. Ivan held up four fingers on his left hand, using his right to point at the bowl of fish. Im Yong Soo titled his head to the side, looking as though Ivan were a mad man. He held up two fingers, as if to say 'Yes, I know! Two pieces! I can count, you know!' Yong Soo made a strange expression before turning his head back to the people that he was now serving, ignoring Ivan's wild gesticulations. Sighing, Ivan chugged the glass of vodka as though it were a jelly shot and he a frat boy. He turned back to the food, deciding that the best course of action was to just eat the damned fish.

When he had finished his meal, he turned his head to the side, noticing that a large police officer was standing over him, arms folded. Ivan, feeling slightly off, turned back to his meal, trying to ignore the officer. Realising that he had already finished, he turned his head to the other side. Another much smaller officer was standing on that side with a very impatient expression etched on his face. Ivan sat up slightly straighter, looking straight ahead, hoping that the two officers would simply ignore him and leave his presence. Unfortunately, he did not realise that they had actually arrived at this restaurant specifically for him. This fact was evident when Ivan felt a tap on his right shoulder.

Turning to see the first officer, said officer pointed to Ivan's left. So, it is the smaller one who wants to talk, he thought.

_"You are required to accompany Officer Karpusi and I, Mr. Braginski."_

Ivan Romanovich Braginski was a man who was fluent in many languages.

He spoke English, Russian, Polish, German, French and several others. What he could never in his twenty six years of existence grasp, however, was the pattern of any of the Asian languages. He had tried Chinese and Japanese in the past, but with about as much success as he would have in trying to fly an emu to Mars. Luckily he was not flying a flightless bird to the neighbouring planet, and had enough knowledge of the language to realise that the man was speaking Japanese. Assuming that, since he was in a crowded restaurant the man must have wanted his seat, he responded accordingly.

"Comrade, you will have to wait your turn. I still have five allocated minutes left."

_"If you choose to not comply with this official request, I will be legally obliged to exert my authority over you."_

As luck would have it, Im Yong Soo returned at that very moment.

"Sir, he say you go with him."

Ivan blinked.

"So that's what this is all about?"

Yong Soo nodded quickly, translating what Ivan had said into Japanese for the officer. They spoke for a moment before Yong Soo turned around.

"Wait, you speak Japanese? I thought Yao-yao told me that you were Korean when he hired you last week?"

Yong Soo grinned.

"I go learn Japan-easy at night class."

Ivan smiled, turning around to see the Japanese man waving a badge in his face.

"Sir, this Officer Honda."

_"To defy a police officer is to defy a higher authority."_

"He say you under arrest, da-ze!"

Ivan raised an eyebrow.

"Oh? Well, tell him he's looking at the wrong man." Ivan cleared his throat, looking at Officer Honda.

"I am not a wanted man. You have the wrong person, da?" Ivan said loudly and slowly, enunciating each syllable as though he were speaking to a small child.

_"Wrong my left ass cheek, Braginski. You're known as Runner Kalashnikov in every mean joint in town."_

"He say you Ka-lish-na-kov, da-ze!"

Ivan shuddered at the term, but decides to look as his phone. Damn, it's not a mistake, he cursed silently. He bit his lip, looking at the other officer with a pleading expression. The officer in question had, however, already fallen asleep standing up. Ivan thought that the officer's narcolepsy would have been much more funny if the situation wasn't such a serious one. Looking back at Officer Honda, the latter continued.

_"We are not mistaken. You are a Blade Runner in the Fourth Sector, and after the slaughter at the steel shop they called you Runner Kalashnikov – the Russian Gun."_

"He say you Brade Runner. He say you Runner Kalashnikov, Russia gun."

"Tell him I don't give two _shits_, Yong Soo."

Before Yong Soo got the chance to, however, Officer Honda continued.

_"Please tell this, ah, intriguing and notorious gentleman that I am acting as an emissary from Captain Bonnefoy, and Captain Bonnefoy has ordered me to bring Mr. Braginski to headquarters even if I have to serve him like sashimi."_

Ivan still had no idea what the man was saying, but his repeated use of the name 'Bonnefoy', was enough to make him nervous. He wished that he had ordered something more significant to eat, so that he would have food to turn back to and something to look at other than the officer in front of him. He chewed the inside of his cheek as Yong Soo translated.

"He say you scary okay. He say, big boss Bon-foy give him permission to use violence make arrest. He say Bon-foy tell him rearrange your brains okay. Make you raw fish, make you into sashimi."

Ivan looked mildly repulsed.

"Bonnefoy, hmm?"

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> Yes, I did have to make an obvious SuFin reference with the Offshore colony. Not only are they my OTP, but like the Hetalia 'verse, they left a hopeless and desolate life for something much better~ :D See? Everything is canon when you think about it.

(ˆ- ˆ )"

Also sorry for making South Korea so terrible at English~ It's just the character he's representing, I don't hate him or anything like that! D:

So, time for the glossary of terms, da?

**Terms:**

**Väinämöinen-Oxenstierna Colony;**

This is a colony that is located somewhere in our solar system, and since I made it up I say that it's on a terraformed Mars. :D If I could be bothered to right a sequel to this, I might have it located here.

**Allocated Minutes;**

Again, some of my own canon here. When a restaurant is particularly crowded, the people will have allocated minutes to eat their food, based on what they order and roughly how long it, on average, takes people to finish it. Ivan's just a fast eater is all~ :3

**Character guide:**

**Richard Deckard - **Russia (Ivan Braginski)

**Waitress - **Taiwan (No name D:)

**Proprietor - **China (Wang Yao; with the English name order (E.N.O) Yao Wang)

**Counterman - **South Korea (Im Yong Soo)

**Intimidating Officer - **Greece (Heracles Karpusi)

**Gaff - **Japan (Honda Kiku; E.N.O Kiku Honda)

**Captain Bryant - **France (Francis Bonnefoy)


	3. Chapter 2: Runners With Blades

_Disclaimer_: I own nothing~ Everything belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya, Ridley Scott and Phillip K. Dick. :3

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><p>Chapter Two: Runners and Blades<p>

The city seemed to be ablaze, filled with light of a thousand suns even in the darkest of night; the darkest of times. The third and (hopefully) final World War had left the world completely devastated, and yet so many people stayed. There were no countries in this time as there were before, with people's loyalty laying with their families and the Earth itself. Despite the nuclear war, and despite the long-lasting effects, many stayed in their terminally ill home planet. Out of the six trillion people that had lived on Earth and survived after the war, a surprising hundred billion chose to remain, fleeing towards the main cities and leaving the smaller ones behind. The cities, in an attempt to cope with this, made buildings that would make the comparatively archaic Burj Khalifa building look like a farmer's cottage. In order to cope with the high traffic, air travel was introduced to the common people. A result of this effort were the 'spinners' – car-like vehicles that were airborne through the use of lifting fans and typical forward propulsion systems powered by hydrocarbon fuel cells.

It is on one of these spinners that Ivan Romanovich Braginski was sitting in the year 2295, heading towards the New York City Police Department. He looked at his mobile phone, seeing that his older sister had sent him a short e-mail from an offshore colony. He smiled, thinking of his early childhood just years after the war as he read the short message.

"_Hi again!_

_It's been too long since we last spoke. Natalya is getting quite impatient in waiting for you to make up your mind and leave Earth for good. Me too, brother._

_Lots of things have been happening over here. For a place that was around a hundred years ago a total wasteland, Mars has sure become a lively place! We have new workers and refugees pouring in every day, and the place is looking more and more like a twenty first century earth with modern technology! It's very exciting, and you should at least come to visit._

_We miss you very much, Vanya!_

_Katyusha~ :D_

_P.s.: Did you hear about what happened on a shuttle that left the east border of the Gemini-Pollux Offshore colony's wall? I won't go into too much detail, but there's a lot of fuss and nonsense going on about it. Since you're one of those Blade Runners, you should be hearing news soon."_

Ivan smiled at the message until he reached the post-script message. _Wait, what?_ He thought anxiously. When he realised that the mysterious events had not happened in the Väinämöinen-Oxenstierna colony, he relaxed slightly. _They're safe_, he repeated mentally. He looked around the spinner, noticing that Officer Honda was muttering darkly under his breath, glaring at him all the while. If looks could kill, Ivan would have been dead five times before he had hit the ground.

"_... told Bonnefoy I could take care of this myself. 'Just move me up. I'll do the job,' I told him. 'Five skin jobs? I just air them out. Not a big deal.' Pow, pow, pow!"_ Officer Honda muttered darkly, imitating shooting someone during his moment of onomatopoeia.

Ivan raised an eyebrow, not comprehending a word that the smaller man had said. The other officer woke up after another nap, sitting up straight. He looked at Ivan for a moment before checking his identification information. He blinked slowly and spoke in a low, gravelly voice.

"I'm Officer Heracles Karpusi. Sorry about Kiku here. He's just aggravated that he didn't get a case he wanted. It's so strange, seeing him angry. He's usually calmer." He smiled sleepily before turning to his fellow officer. "_Calm down, Kiku. You are actually scaring that scary Kalashnikov, which if you might recall is not the wisest thing to do_," he said in slow, deliberate Japanese. Looking thoroughly pissed off by Heracles' comment, Kiku looked at the taller man darkly before turning to Ivan, folding his arms over his chest in an act of defiance.

" '_No', he says. Bonnefoy thinks you're the shit. The smartest spotter, baddest Blade Runner. You do not look so magnificent to me. You do not even shave. Bad grooming reflects on the whole department. You do not dress well, which reflects on me, and makes the whole department look like shit. The skin jobs look better than you do! What is the point of wiping out skin jobs if they look better than Law Enforcement? Pretty soon the public will want skin jobs for Enforcement. I guess you'd prefer that, hanh? Is that why you quit?_"

Heracles' jaw dropped and for the first time since he had met the officer, Ivan noticed that he seemed fully alert and aware of his surroundings. Heracles bit his bottom lip, staring at the small man with wide, disbelieving eyes. He quickly pinched his arm, as if to make sure that he wasn't dreaming. He frowned, turning towards Ivan with an expression that was both of confusion and shock before speaking once more.

"I'm so sorry, Mr. Braginski. Aside from the occasional food shortage, I've actually never seen Kiku get this angry or passionate about any topic for as long as I've known him. He's usually so courteous and polite, and quiet too––"

"_I can not believe you, Heracles. You are completely silent, as though you are some narcoleptic all day, and when I finally decide to express myself you give this fool the impression that I am a complete basket case!_" Kiku hissed, rounding on Heracles.

Ivan, to be perfectly honest, had never been so confused in his entire life.

"Comrade, I have _no_ idea what you're saying."

Kiku's dark eyes widened with anger.

"_Exactly my point! What a jerk! If I was not up for promotion I would push the driver out of the way and put this vehicle in a fast spin and leave you and your precious vodka all over the windshield, even if it meant wasting food!_"

Heracles looked down with a guilty expression while Ivan nearly cowered in fear of the raging Japanese man.

After taking a moment to calm Kiku down, Heracles led the two towards Captain Bonnefoy's office. Kiku apologised profusely, and even though twenty minutes had passed, the Officer still maintained that – according to Heracles' translations – he was being immature and childish, all the while having an extremely guilty expression. It didn't matter than Ivan had forgiven him a dozen times over, Heracles had also been made to explain. Kiku would beat himself up about it for a long time thereafter, and there was very little the two could do about it. Ivan shrugged, running a hand through his short, dirty blonde hair. He again chewed the inside of his cheek, frowning as they reached the large door of Captain Bonnefoy's Office.

"Well here it is, da?" Ivan said softly. Kiku nodded silently, opening the door by scanning his identification card.

The door creaked open, revealing a large black leather chair facing an even larger window. The night sky was pure black, any stars long since hidden by pollution and smog. Eyes drifting from the scene outside of the one hundred and fifth story on the building, Ivan looked back at the chair. It appeared to be made of leather, but all animals whose skin could be made into leather were protected by the government and moved to the offshore colonies. _Must be the skin of an animal replicant_, Ivan thought.

There was a moment where every person in the room was so quiet that Kiku, Heracles and Ivan were unsure if there was anyone occupying the leather seat. As the seconds passed and became minutes, everyone involved could feel the tension rise.

Without any forewarning, the chair spun around revealing a man in his early thirties, smiling up at the three.

"_Bonsoir, Vanya_."

"What do you want, Francis? Why the hell did you make me come here?" Ivan asked, gritting his teeth in anticipation for how goddamned _exasperating_ this man would be in the minutes that followed.

"Ah, dear _Vanya_-"

"_Ivan._ My name as far as you're concerned is _Ivan._"

"Ivan, you know as well as I that you would not 'ave come if I had simply _asked_ you to. Come, sit down," Francis said in his light French accent, smiling. He gestured towards a small yet somewhat comfortable looking black leather seat for Ivan to take. Ivan was not tempted, instead glaring at the man before him, fists clenched tightly, knuckles turning white underneath his tan coloured fingerless gloves. A vein in Ivan's temple was clearly visible as he tried to keep his temper in check.

"Don't toy with me, Francis. Get to the point."

"Don't be an asshole, Braginski. I've got four of those skinjobs on the loose in the city."

Ivan smiled menacingly, finally sitting down.

"Captain Bonnefoy, you're the kind of police officer who, in the mid-twentieth century, would have called darker people the 'n' word, _da_?"

Francis laughed.

"Reading up on your history books, 'ave you? Well, I suppose I would 'ave. Regardless, Ivan, this is a serious matter. They hijacked a shuttle heading 'ome. Killed the crew and passengers. Men, women, children. All dead because of those skinjobs."

Ivan gaped openly. He had dealt with a variety of androids before. Ones that used people as human shields, ones that hid explosives under peoples' cars, and even ones who threatened to harm his co-workers' children and siblings, with one succeeding in the latter beyond what they had expected. But _never_ in his short-lived career as a Blade Runner had he _ever_ dealt with androids who had massacred a whole ship just to run away from their masters. Many times he saw Nexus androids kill one or two people – just what they needed to in order to get by unscathed. Not an entire ship which contained not only men, but women and – most horrifying of all – _children_. He had not dealt with a replicant who had killed a child since...

Ivan tried to block the memory out of his mind. _Not now._

Francis stood up, walking around to pat Ivan on the back consolingly.

"We found the shuttle floating off the coast two weeks ago, _ami_. We know they're around."

Ivan looked at him steadily. _This is still a game to him_, he reminded himself before replying.

"Well, this sure as fuck must be embarrassing for your department. Yes, or yes?"

Francis turned around, pouring a small amount of Port Wine into a crystal glass. He offered some to Ivan, who gladly accepted. Taking a sip, he spoke in his mild French accent.

"_Non_, it is not even _close_ to embarrassing, because nobody's ever going to find out they're down here."

"... and pray tell why that would be, comrade?"

"The answer is simple: because _you're_ going spot them and _you're_ going to air them out."

Ivan was halfway through inhaling his drink when Francis was talking. When it dawned on Ivan that Francis was saying that he should come out of retirement, he choked. The expensive Port threatening to shoot out of Ivan's nose as he tried to avoid doing a spit take directly into Francis' face. He tried to keep calm, sliding the empty glass across the desk as he tried to gain his composure in front of the haughty frenchman. There was no way he was going to do this. No way in _hell_ he was ever going to return to being... what he had been. He wasn't going to let people suffer for his past behaviour, no matter the cost.

"Not me, Bonnefoy. I don't work for you anymore. That is to say that I _won't_ work for you anymore. Give it to Runner Jones, he's good."

Ivan stood up, heading towards the door. Just as he turned the knob and nodded farewell to Heracles and Kiku, Francis spoke once more.

"I already 'ave."

Ivan froze in place.

"... and?"

"His breathing is back to normal, but he is under 'eavy guard in the Intensive Care Unit, just in case they come back and try to finish the job."

Ivan seemingly thawed, closing the door and facing Francis.

"Sure, Runner Jones is – or should I say, _was _– very good at what he did, but he's just not good enough _anymore_. Not as good as you. I need you, Ivan. This is a bad case, the worst yet. I need the old Blade Runner, I need the Russian gun; I need the infamous _Kalashnikov_."

...

...

_Mon Dieu._

François Jean-Luc Bonnefoy was a haughty bastard from the day he was born.

He was born to a very wealthy family on an offshore colony on the Galilean Moon Ganymede, and grew up on the northern colony of Socrates-Plato – located on the western rim of the _Harakhtes_ crater – as one of the wealthiest, most attractive and the smartest males in the entire city-sized colony. He was always painfully aware of that fact, and enjoyed rubbing it in anyone within a hundred kilometre radius' face. He was independent, calculating and cunning. Were he to have entered any other profession, he need not rely on anyone.

At this very moment, however, he truly needed the help of Ivan Romanovich Braginski. No matter how lewd, insensitive or manipulative he had been to Ivan in the past, he genuinely needed his help in retiring these androids.

"When I walked in here", Ivan began slowly, "I was a retired Blade Runner."

He paused.

"As I entered retired, I too am going to leave this room _retired_. I shall catch up with you more often in the future if that is what you so desire, Francis, but I will not do this. See you around, da?"

Ivan began to walk down the hallway.

"I really could do with some vodka right now..." he muttered to himself, adjusting his scarf.

"Stop right where you are, Braginski."

Ivan turned around, freezing at Francis' hard tone.

"You know what's going to happen, Ivan. When you're not a cop, you're _little people_."

Ivan frowned.

"Forgot for a minute there about the little people. No choice, I guess."

Francis smiled.

"_None whatsoever."_

* * *

><p><em>Author's Note:<em>

Okay.

So.

_Lividlillies._

I read your review, right?

I proceeded to sit down and stop doing a super happy flail dance because my parents thought I had finally lost it.

I opened the folder with the main chapters of this story.

I scrolled the the last page.

I then went on to write _four more chapters_ of this story. :D Hell to the yeah~

Keep in mind that I had already completely written up to the sixth chapter. (Synopsis and all)

(≥ *ˆ Jˆ)≥ I LUV JOOOO~ *cue fangirlish glomp*

Creeper, much?

_Now tell my English teacher that I can write, damn it!_

/end butthurt over getting a low B in creative writing. D:

But seriously, you're actually one of my favourite RusCan writers. I loved "Insecurity" and am really enjoying "We'll Marry Our Fortunes Together". I do love a fic where there is some actual history and knowledge of both past and modern politics. _So_ much more interesting, imho. Plus, it made me want to learn more about Canada's history and political ties with Russia, with a focus on the Trudeau era.

(You see, we learn absolutely _nothing_ in Australia about other countries' histories. It's so bad that literally every other person in my class this year (year _ten_, no less), still thought that Russia was a Soviet Socialist Republic (Which they used interchangeably with "Communist" *facepalm*), and that Russia's leader was Stalin.

_F_CKING STALIN, MAN_. as9djkgd\sgllamasdgbd;-3ewrsz there are no words.

I think part of me died a little when some of them also didn't realise that Italy was part of the Axis.)

In short: Thank you so much for your review, you're an excellent writer yourself, I'll be sure to be more descriptive (hopefully I won't end up writing purple prose, like a certain sparkle-loving pseudo-author we're all a little too familiar with. XD). Thank you again, I was actually really concerned about making him sound like an idiot.

Yup~ I'm fifteen, and have been for about... oh, nine days now? XDD Yeah, I have two weeks off school and should _really_ be working on my fics and that.

Aww, thank you! I shall certainly try to~ :3

Okay, sorry that I'm being a creep _(DO THE CREEP~ _*is shot*_). _Also sorry for the srs tl;dr. *headcactus*

Moving on, moving on.

Everyone: I decided against fem!UK. Iggy will show up in later chapters, but will most definitely be _male_. :D

So, you guys. I know, six trillion is a lot of people. Like, a LOT. I'm sticking by this ridiculously high number, however, because according to calculations made by the one and only Isaac Asimov (For those who don't know, the film '_I, Robot'_ is loosely based off of one of his works. Also, the three laws of Robotics (_Asimov's Laws_) in said film are named such as a shout-out to him.) is that the Earth's maximum capacity is fifteen _trillion_ people. I thought that'd be pushing it in the story (Also gotta factor in the colonies), so I kept it at less than half of that. (ˆ- ˆ*)

I know that inhaling is breathing, but Ivan is just one _hell_ of a drinker.

I also imagine that this universe's Ivan was born in the year 2268, and that World War Three erupted in 2237 and ended in 2266. Yes, it was one long goddamned war until someone brought out the nuclear weapons. I won't say who I think it is quite yet, but it will probably end up with a fan war.

_*cue hiding in a bomb shelter*_

asfsdjg;sdv Anyways you guise, I think that Yekaterina would've been born around 2265, and Natalya around 2271. Here's the glossary of terms~

Terms:

**Gemini-Pollux Offshore Colony;**

This colony, despite its name, is not located around the star Pollux or in the constellation of Gemini. The colony is located on East Europa, actually. It is called the Gemini-Pollux Offshore Colony because the colony on west Europa, Castor, was formed by a man named Andrew Castor. He and his twin brother had a falling out, so the younger twin James formed the colony on the other hemisphere, naming it Pollux.

Twins?

Castor and Pollux?

Astronomy?

_**...Anyone?**_

_*crickets chirping*_

Dammit, you guys. Read some Greek Mythology or something. XD

**Runner Jones/Runner Braginski/Runner Kalashnikov;**

Entirely my own headcanon. When someone works as a Blade Runner, should be given a title that signifies that they are related to that field of work. Thus, Runner (insert name) came to be. Plus it sounds kind of bad ass, imo.

Since the character list remains unchanged, I'm not gonna bother to put it up. :3


	4. Chapter 3: Skinjobs

**Chapter Three: Skinjobs**

_Disclaimer:_ Sadly, I own nothing. Everything here belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya, Ridley Scott and Phillip K. Dick.

_Warnings:_ Cursing, adult themes. The rating is now officially M, you guys. :3

* * *

><p>A vast expanse of moving light, spanning across the three metre wall and casting a blinding light into the tiny, dark and cramped room. It was cold – not so cold that it would affect Ivan in his big, thick overcoat and scarf, that is to say. Small streams of breath were clearly visible in the light the monitor provided every time either of the two would breathe, however, which detracted from Ivan's belief that it was a comfortable temperature. Francis shivered, buttoning up his coat as he closed the door behind himself. He walked towards Ivan with a frown, silently wondering how the man was not shivering in the cold. Ivan was standing, watching though not <em>truly<em> seeing what was on the screen.

The monitor displayed the same image on a loop: a man running in place with a variety of body-monitoring equipment attached to his muscular form. He jogged on the treadmill, his pace never slowing –– his feet never faltering. Ivan frowned, his arms folded over his chest as he watched, waiting for Francis to explain what had happened with the four rogue androids. Ivan was bored out of his mind, and the suspense was not improving this or his temper in the slightest.

At that moment a small girl – not much older than nineteen – entered the room. She wore a light blue blouse and black dress pants, her hair tied into two low-sitting ponytails with a bright red ribbon. She smiled widely at Francis as she walked, handing him an off-white manila folder with a red 'CLASSIFIED' stamp clearly emblazoned on the front. He thanked her with a polite nod. She turned around, leaving the room and closing the door gently behind her.

"My niece, Seychel," he said, smiling and answering Ivan's unasked question.

Ivan rolled his eyes, uninterested by the red herring Francis provided. Clearing his throat, Francis opened the folder, inspecting its contents.

"We 'ad an escape from the Offshore colony of Gemini-Pollux two weeks ago. Six replicants. Three male, Three female. Slaughtered twenty three people and jumped a shuttle. A patrol found the ship in the former Hudson River. No live crew members were sighted––"

"These are all old android tapes. Could you show some newer ones?" Ivan asked, ignoring Francis completely. He was paid back in turn, with Francis continuing to read the information in the bright glow of the monitor.

"There was no sign of them then three nights ago. They tried to break into the Heinrich Corporation Building. They killed two guards and got as far as the Genetic Sector. At that point, two of them – identified as _Gilbert Beilschmidt_ and _Elizaveta Hédévary_ – got fried going through an electromagnetic field. Unfortunately, we lost the other four. We weren't sure what they were after, really. We thought that we might be able to find out after we detected the two units that went through the field, but there wasn't much viable information left on the two beyond their identification chips. What we did find, however, was that the biochemical data and morphology records of the six Nexus-6 were reported missing.

"Going on the possibility they might try to infiltrate as employees, we sent Runner Jones in to run Voight-Kampff tests on new workers. Guess he found himself one, _oui_?"

Francis looked through the folder once more, finding a one hundred and fifty gigabyte thumb drive no larger than his pinky nail.

"A one-fifty gigabyte thumb drive? How delightfully archaic!" Ivan exclaimed sardonically, smirking.

It was now Francis' turn to roll his eyes. He inserted the thumb drive into the small slot, opening a small video file.

It displayed a man, of whom appeared no older than twenty-two, battering a metal post with his bare fists. The wide smile on his face indicated a total lack of pain. He continued to pummel the post mercilessly, his hands quickly becoming bloody. The only sounds are the loud _smacks_ and _thumps_ of his fists hitting the post, and the young man humming Beethoven's 9th. Ivan finally began to look interested at.

"Who would this be, comrade?"

Francis smiled.

"This is a third-generation Nexus 6. Ludwig Beilschmidt. His year of inception was 2091. A combat model at optimum physical and mental capacity –– A-grade on both accounts. He was actually designed in the image of Arminius Heinrich himself, incepted on the man's birthday as a way of 'onoring him. Strange, if you ask me. 'onoring a man by making a younger, stronger and better version of him that would only live for four years. He is in all likelihood the leader of the remaining group of rogues, as he was programmed to be a leader who took no prisoners."

"Why again – pray tell, Francis – did they run away and stay here? They could have gone anywhere in that ship, really."

"You tell me, Runner Braginski. That's really what you're 'ere for, after all."

"Hmm..." Ivan contemplated this for a moment before responding.

"They must want something very important to risk coming back here. Can you show me what the rest look like?"

Francis went back to the option menu on the monitor, clicking another file on the thumb drive.

A young man's portrait appeared on the screen. He had ear-length, mousy brown hair and pale green eyes. He had a small smile, but overall seemed to be very timid and very nervous. He wore the standard Android inception uniform: an artificial linen teeshirt cut coarsely and without any stitching. Ivan noted mentally that there was a small blue collar around his neck, signifying his rank. He suppressed a chuckle. Who or whatever this man was, he was a low-class prostitute. Why the _hell_ would he run when he was designed to be complacent?

"This is another Nexus 6. Toris Laurinaitis. Incepted in mid 2092 with athletic conditioning and a competitive nature. A-grade physique and B-grade mind. Special abilities in the 'entertainment' field." Francis laughed, raising an eyebrow and looking at Ivan suggestively.

"What do you think, Ivan?"

"He's... kind of cute. For a male android and prostitute." Ivan admitted quietly, head lowered.

Francis chuckled.

"Don't get you're hopes up, _ami_. If what previous records in Gemini-Pollux inform us are anything close to accurate, the next skinjob that ran off is with him in some sort of pseudo-relationship."

He clicked the right-pointing arrow on the monitor and the image changed. Now there was a man of the same age, but his physical appearance was very different. He had a red collar around his neck, with shoulder-length light blonde hair and vivid green eyes. He too wore the same generic and poorly made cloth, but unlike Toris he was grinning at the camera. _Happy to be part of the international military?_

"This is Feliks Łukasiewicz. Difficult name to pronounce, _non_? Well, his inception date is late 2092. He has a A-grade physique and C-grade mind-"

"- so he's basically a gun-happy idiot, da?" Ivan interrupted. Francis laughed, nodding.

"Well, that is what 'aving an average mind in this day and age generally leads to, Ivan. That aside, he is non-competitive but with an extremely large survival and self-preservation instinct. The former isn't usually allowed in the military, but due to shortages the skinjob was let in. This is the one that attacked Runner Jones during the Voight-Kampff test."

"Can we look at the last one now?" Ivan said snappily. Francis raised an eyebrow at him, clicking the arrow button.

The next image was that of a young woman. She had long brown hair that cut out of the frame and wide brown eyes. She wore a black collar around her neck and the same, standardised 'uniform'. She gave the camera a crooked smile, and her posture suggested that she was suppressing the urge to wave her hands wildly. She seemed less 'dangerous murderer' and more 'harmless girl' to Ivan, though. Of course, being a high-grade type L prostitute would be the reason for such an appearance. Ivan bit the inside of his cheek, waiting for Francis' elaboration on the final Nexus in the display. This one was a manipulator, he could tell.

"This is the fourth and as I'm sure you are aware, the final _living_ Nexus 6 android in the list. Feliciana Vargas. Her 'brother android' Lovino Vargas did not run and thus still remained in the Gemini-Pollux colony when she fled with the other five. He claims to have no idea of her whereabouts. That being said, he did make rather lewd and unsavory comments about the Ludwig and Gilbert Beilschmidt androids, suggesting that he did know the she was going to run. Her inception was in early 2292, making her the youngest of the rogues. She is slightly competitive in nature, though mostly harmless. She is – as I'm sure you're aware – a type L pleasure model, designed for providing pleasure for long-term space travellers."

"So she is a whore, da?" Ivan chirped, cracking his knuckles solely to see Francis shudder. Ivan grinned, thoroughly satisfied that Francis did indeed shudder. Relatively unperturbed by Ivan's sadism (_Only_ shuddering because of the sickening crack of joints, Francis would attest), Francis answered Ivan's question.

"Yes, but the politically correct term is a 'courtesan' or 'pleasure model', Ivan." Francis responded with a frown.

"Why the Heinrich Corporation? Why would they return to the place of their invention?" Ivan wondered aloud, pacing along the narrow room. He chewed the inside of his cheek as he thought, looking back at Feliciana's face on the monitor occasionally.

"Why not their place of manufacture, Francis?"

"Maybe they wanted to find out why they were made?" Francis suggested. Ivan shook his head.

"Why would they bother? They know their place in the colonies' society, thus they know why they were made – to keep the status quo and such."

"The Nexus 6 androids were designed to copy human beings in every way except their emotions. Their makers thought that that after a few years they might develop their own emotional responses - 'ate, love, fear, anger, envy. So they built in a fail safe device."

"What might that be, comrade?"

"A four year life span."

Francis turned off the monitors and turned the lights in the conference room back on. He looked through the notes compiled by both the authorities and Runner Jones. Ivan made his way from in front of the monitor to a seat at the four-seater table. Sitting down, he drummed his fingers on the desk while he waited for Francis to sit down. Francis pulled out a seat absentmindedly as he read. Shaking his head, he re-read a section that had been dictated by Jones, sighed, and turned to Ivan one last time.

"It appears you have one other problem, too."

Ivan looked up from the seat he was in the seat.

"What seems to be the problem now?"

"It appears that Runner Jones found out that Voight-Kampff machines don't always work on the Nexus 6 models. The Heinrich Corporation 'as a demo model, so go check it out. Heinrich said that he can organise a meeting for next week, so you have some time to prepare and practice VK-ing someone. But you better make damn sure that the test you prepare works on the skinjob you're testing."

"What does this mean for us if it doesn't, though?"

"Well, if the machine fails, we're in trouble."

* * *

><p><em>Author's Note:<em> SUSPENSEEE~

Ahh, I hope you guys don't mind "( ´ 3`).

Okay, I hope you all liked the Chapter, (I kept my promise _lividlillies_!) and I should probably get onto the glossary.

Since there isn't anything that I think I need to explain (Message me if I'm wrong and I'll put the info in the next chapter! I don't mind! :D), I'll get right to the new Character list. (Just the new characters, though)

Character List:

**Eldon Tyrell** - The Germanic Empire (Arminius Heinrich)

**Fried Android One - "Mary"** - Hungary (Elizabeta Hédévary)

**Fried Android Two** - Prussia (Gilbert Beilschmidt)

**Roy **- Germany (Ludwig Beilschmidt)

**Pris **- North Italy (Feliciana/Feliciano Vargas)

**Zhora** - Lithuania (Toris Lorinaitis)

**Leon **- Poland (Feliks Łukasiewicz)


	5. Chapter 4: The Creator

**DISCLAIMER**: I own nothing. Everything here belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya, Ridley Scott and Phillip K. Dick. ;w; (Sure wish I owned all this, though.)

* * *

><p>Chapter Four: The Creator<p>

At that exact moment on the other half of the city, a man entered a cold storage room. It was not a particularly large storage facility, and by _no_ means was it a display of (non-existent) wealth. The man grinned to himself, realising that it would be pointless to decorate a cold storage room with any form of extravagance. Not that anyone on this godforsaken planet could afford anything that even _closely_ resembled opulence or wealth. Not in this economy; times had changed.

He closed the door behind him, and faced the slightly taller man in front of him. The fluorescent lights overhead flickered for a moment as the taller switched them on, revealing his client's true identity. The taller took an instinctive step backwards, trying to hide his gasp of horror with a thinly-veiled attempt at a cough.

"R-Roderich Edelstein?"

The shorter of the two had dark brown hair and, for all his silhouetted youth, his face was that of a haggard old man. The seemingly old man nodded slowly.

"I know, I know. I don't _sound_ like an old man, do I?"

Feeling slightly guilty for his initial reaction, the younger looking man raised a hand out as an offering of peace.

"I'm Vash Zwingli, as you know."

He nodded again. As he looked around the room, Roderich noticed that – except for the work table – the room was completely barren and felt very, _very_ sterile. He moved forwards slowly, as if to avoid frightening the man before him. Roderich took his hesitant hand and shook it slightly, a forlorn smile on his face.

Sharp, gleaming instruments were lined up perfectly on the marble surface. Vash moved behind the counter, bending down to open one of the table's many glass shelves. After a moment, he removed an airtight box from the depths of the third shelf from the bottom. Carefully untwisting the glass seal, he reached into the purple gelatin-like substance with a pair of unusually long tweezers, extracted what appeared to be a human eye. Vash held the eye up to the light, studying it.

"Roderich, do you have a pocket-charger?"

Roderich searched the pockets of his brown overcoat for a moment before holding it aloft, as though he held a trophy in his grasp. After a moment and an impatient sigh from Vash, he gave the blonde the pocket-charger. Vash tapped it against the back of the eye, and after a moment the pupil began to dilate and contract, eventually adjusting to the light. Roderich smiled.

"Is that good enough for you, Edelstein?"

Truth be told, Roderich was eager to leave Vash and his cold storage room – even if it meant buying a faulty product. He knew that he would have to fix it, but his desire to retreat to his home had overtaken his desire to purchase a functioning product. Sensing this and becoming mildly offended, Vash put the eye back into the peculiar gelatin substance, taking his time while doing so.

"How much is the old bastard paying you?" Vash asked casually, as though he were inquiring about the weather. Roderich, on the other hand, spluttered in shock. He tried to ignore the question and stared at the container for several moments. Sighing again, Vash decided to ask him a different question.

"Okay, _when_ is he paying you?"

"As soon as I finish the job."

"When might _that_ be, Roderich?"

"With any luck, the day after tomorrow."

"Hmm." Vash frowned, pitying the man in front of him.

"The rich hate to pay, Roderich. A dick like Heinrich will keep you waiting for as long as possible. Pay the little guy last, you know?"

"Well what am I to do about stingy old men?"

"You should charge twice as much. It'll make you feel better. That is to say, if _I_ were you it would make _me_ feel better."

Roderich chuckled, nodding his head as though he planned on doing as much. Vash, realising that it was a lost cause, handed him the container. As per usual, Roderich would boil on his anger and never say a word. It was his nature – as much as he disliked doing something, he would do it and be as quiet as a church mouse. _He would surely work his aging body to death if Arminius asked it_, Vash mused silently.

"Well, here you go then." Vash muttered, still absorbed in thought.

"Thank you, Mr. Zwingli." Roderich said with a polite nod, turning to leave the cold storage room.

Roderich's spinner was not a nice once, by any stretch of the imagination. It was a beaten and battered rust-bucket through and through, but Roderich didn't seem to care. There had once been a time in his life where he would have crossed the street to avoid someone who would willingly drive a vehicle like that. As they usually do, though, the times had changed.

Roderich was a man born to a family of relative wealth and fortune, being given the highest standard of education possible on this godforsaken planet. He was to be a genetic engineer, his occupation that of designing androids for the Heinrich Corporation's latest endeavour – the Nexus program. Were Roderich to have had his way, he would have been part of the manufacturing program on an offshore colony where people could live free in the offshore nations – the Monarchy of Fenno-Sweden or the Democratic Republic of New Spain.

Life had always been relatively easy for Roderich, but when his parents passed on he was soon to discover that they had chosen to write him out of their will.

(It should be noted, however, that they did not disinherit Roderich based on superficial reasons – they simply did not anticipate that they would not outlive a child that was given a ten year lifespan.) As luck continued to evade him, Roderich's siblings did not give their rapidly aging brother a second glance as they left the Unified Nations for the offshore colonies and the free nations that owned them.

Shaking his head in an attempt to remove such negative thoughts from his head, Roderich walked across the street with the change of the traffic lights. As he reached the other side he fumbled for a moment, getting his keys out of one of his many pockets to enter the car. He unlocked the rusted door with a click, heaving it open with as much strength as his frail form could muster. He sat down on the driver's seat, taking a moment to realise that he was not alone in the vehicle.

A young woman appearing to be in her late teens or early twenties – he could never tell, his own aging and isolation in his formative years leaving him almost completely unable to guess another person's age – was sleeping in the front passenger seat. Her dark brown hair was frizzy with knots from lack of care, and the dark eye make up she had been wearing had ran down her cheeks, leaving distinctly black tear tracks down her otherwise perfectly pretty face.

Though she was asleep she was restless, Roderich noted mentally. Perhaps she was having a nightmare? This belief was reinforced by her frequent whimpers and violent turns.

Roderich, ever the socially awkward former aristocrat, prodded her in an attempt to wake her up. She woke up, stretching slowly as she turned to face him.

She yelped loudly as she realised what had happened, opening the passenger door's window. Sliding out, she began to walk off quite quickly. _I suppose if she ran she would have looked even more suspicious,_ he thought_._ Frowning, Roderich looked around the spinner. _Have I left anything of value here?_ He wondered. After a moment he snorted at the very notion. _I think as though I would even have anything of value in the first place._

Searching for the sake of searching, Roderich noticed that there was something on the seat that was clearly not his – a woman's black toiletry bag. Grabbing said bag, he opened the rusted driver's door with all of his strength and turned to chase after the mysterious girl, who he could still see bobbing off into the distance. Turning, she noticed him behind her. Eyes widening, the girl's speed increased as she spun on the ball of her left foot and into an alleyway.

"Wait! Miss, you forgot your bag!"

She stopped, turning around to face him. She walked slowly and carefully towards him, as though she were a scared and beaten animal. She reached out slowly for the bag, snatching it from his already loose and weak grasp and holding it to her chest. She unzipped it, looking at the contents. When she was sure that everything was the same as she had left it, she nodded appreciatively towards Roderich. A small smile appeared on her face.

"Why were you sleeping in my truck?" Roderich asked, confused.

"I was really tired and I don't have anywhere to go."

"You can get back in, you know, i-if you want."

The girl at this point looked torn between accepting the offer, or simply running away into the night. She seemed to be scared and lost, as though this city were not her home.

"I won't hurt you, I promise."

"P-promise?" She whispered softly. He nodded.

She smiled, running towards him. Frozen in fear of what she would do, Roderich felt helpless. Luckily for him, the girl did not choose attack, instead opting to hug and embrace him with cries of '_Grazie_, _grazie_!' and strange '_ve_' sounds. Completely confused but nonetheless delighted to have made a friend, Roderich lead the girl back to his truck, opening the door for her. She got in slowly, her previous shyness returning. Roderich sat down in the driver's seat, slamming the rust-encrusted door shut. He turned the key in the ignition, and as he started to drive away from the surprisingly empty street he tried to initiate a conversation with the girl.

"What's your name?"

"Ve, my name is Feliciana Vargas."

"Oh, well I'm Roderich Edelstein."

"Nice to meet you! We scared each other pretty good, huh?"

"We sure did!" Roderich answered, smiling.

Feliciana giggled.

Roderich was at that moment very pleased with himself. For the first time since he turned fifteen and had to make his own way in the world, he had a decent and non-work related conversation with another person. Well, decent by what he reminded himself was his ever-sliding standards. For a few minutes he smiled despite the awkward silence, forgetting what would come next in a conversation after not having a real one in nearly six years years.

"I'm sorry! Where did you want to go?"

Feliciana shrugged.

"Home?" He suggested.

She shook her head with a loud sniffle, trying not to tear up.

"C-can't", she stammered, "I d-don't have one."

"Parents?"

"Dead." She replied softly.

_I'm just making everything worse, aren't I? _Roderich thought, berating himself.

"What about friends?"

"Oh! I have some friends here, ve, but I don't know where they are right now. Luddy was supposed to call me an hour ago to tell me where we're supposed to go..." she said, trailing off. She pulled a small, cheap mobile phone out of her overnight bag. She tapped the screen a few times, and after a moment she gaped at the screen.

"Luddy _did_ call me an hour ago! Oh, no, I hope Luddy isn't to worried! I'm sorry, Luddy! I'm sorry!" She apologised to the phone profusely, as though the mysterious 'Luddy' could hear her pleas for forgiveness.

"If you don't mind me asking, who is _Luddy_?"

"Luddy? Oh, Luddy is the best, ve! Luddy is helping all of us out right now, and I was supposed to get a call or call Luddy or something! Luddy has a bad temper sometimes, but is still really nice! I promise! I wouldn't let Luddy cook, though, because Luddy really can't. I can, though! I can make the best pasta! My older brother Lovino showed me how to! He's great, too! But he's not here to help me make pasta, ve!" She said, gesticulating wildly. There was a loud growling noise and she changed position, instead choosing to clutch her stomach.

"I'm so hungry, ve."

"I-I have food, Feliciana. Do you want to come to where I live and have something to eat?" Roderich asked, hoping he didn't seem creepy.

"I was hoping you'd say that."

* * *

><p>Author's Notes:<p>

I'm sorry about giving Austria that sort of appearance, but it's all relevant later, I swear! I'm also sorry for not having Ivan in this chapter, though I will say that this all becomes very important later.

_Very_.

Also I'm very sorry for not updating as much as I would have liked to. ;A; I had/have several valid reasons. The main ones being that I have to study for my School Certificate Trials and subsequent SC exams, and I was holding this particular chapter hostage from a certain someone. Heh.

BUT IT'S OKAY; I'LL TRY TO KEEP UPDATES A LOT MORE REGULAR IN THE FUTURE.

Don't hurt me. (O/_/ O ")

Character List:

**Chew** - Switzerland (Vash Zwingli)

**J.F Sebastian** - Austria (Roderich Edelstein)

I'll do a complete list of characters riiiight at the end, though. :3

Feel free to leave a review, if you wanna.

Again, feel free to PM me if I need to put a glossary to explain some of the terminology in this 'verse.


	6. Chapter 5: The Heinrich Corporation

Chapter Five: The Heinrich Corporation

Disclaimer: I own nothing, sadly. Every character and every concept here belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya, Phillip K. Dick and Ridley Scott. 8D;

* * *

><p>"If you call me Kalashnikov again, Jones, I assure you that I will see to your transference from the Intensive Care Unit to the morgue. Is that something a chickenhead would do? <em>Harashyego d'nya<em>."

Slam.

The spinner was in a nondescript place.

It sat in a different part of the city to what its owner was accustomed to. It was a generic part of the city, with identical skyscrapers at every turn. The spinner sat in a nondescript place in an alleyway, its owner sitting in the driver's seat with a small first aid kit on his lap. In his right was a small amount of whitish salve, and in his left was a small tub with the words 'BRUISE HEALANT – MEDICAL GRADE" emblazoned in bold, black lettering on its lid. The man applied the salve to his neck and to his face, gritting his teeth as the salve entered the small cuts on his face. He slid his identification card into the ignition slot on the spinner's mainframe, the RFID tracking chip in the thin plastic registering with the car and causing a high-pitched confirmation beep to echo throughout the car.

Ivan Braginski smiled despite the bruises and dried blood on his face, looking up at the city. He looked up at the city from the small street, feeling the penetrating gaze he always felt when under the glowing eyes of skyscrapers. After a moment, he decided to look in front of him and take flight. He guided the spinner forwards and upwards, feeling the distinct sensation one would feel when riding a plane through clouds. He bit his lip, wincing as he felt the pain that reminded him that there was indeed a cut directly underneath where his teeth were positioned.

Setting the coordinates on the satellite guidance and automatic travelling screen, he set the coordinates of his intended location as he had moments before. He closed his eyes for a moment, deciding to use the two hours he had to get from the western outskirts of the city to the city's centre. Legally, he was only allowed to utilise the automatic travelling system for an hour, but this did not perturb him. He was going to use the hour he did have to sleep for the first time in what felt like years. Closing his eyes, he had a very strange dream.

* * *

><p>He was in a field of sunflowers.<p>

It was cold, but not cold enough to kill the flowers. It was strange, seeing something he had only read about in school up close. He could see the patterns on the petals; feel the softness on his fingertips. Here he could truly observe the plant here, running his hand – palms and all – over the florets, fingertips and nails dancing over each floret and following them down the golden angle. Each was exactly one hundred and thirty five point seven degrees from each other and in perfect Fibonacci sequence.

Slowly, he moved away from the sunflower and began to walk around. At first he gently moved each stalk out of his way, but after several minutes he gave up, shoving past them and causing many to snap and break. He walked and walked, running when he realised how trapped he was in this field. As he was about to give up and shout up at the heavens, he noticed two things.

First, he realised something that disturbed him on a level that he did not know could be reached.

The sky was blue.

It was not grey and dreary, nor was it green, black and shifting in form and pattern from the auroras caused by the lack of a magnetosphere and solar flares. It was not a sickly orange from the city's lights; it was blue. Light blue. Something that he had not seen before the twenty six years he had been alive. White clouds scudded across the expanse of powder blue above him, adding to the oddness of the dream. Ivan frowned, picking himself up from the ground when he noticed something else.

He was not alone.

Mere metres from him there was a clearing where two people sat, facing each other. One was very large, sporting a beige overcoat and a pale, almost pink scarf – worn in the exact way Ivan wore it, no less. Then Ivan's eyes moved up beyond the scarf and back of the man. As he hid in the sunflowers, Ivan noticed that this man's hair was the same colour as his, as well as the same shade. Moving through the sunflowers to get a better view, he peered into the man's face. The realisation hit him like a ton of bricks.

That man was him.

He rubbed his eyes, unsure of what he was seeing. In a way, the man was him and yet was not. He bore the same features as Ivan; the same size and the similar body language but, much as Venus is to Earth, the similarities – striking though they may be – ended there. This man's smile reached his eyes. Though Ivan could not hear what the man was saying, it was clear he was speaking in an animated and, dare he say it, almost happy tone. He spoke to the smaller man with a smile and a glimmer in his eyes, the other laughing and smiling with him. Dragging his eyes from his doppelgänger, Ivan looked at the man that 'he' was talking to.

He was smaller than Ivan, but he noted that it was not for lack of size. This man was tall, but he positively shrunk in comparison to the other. Concentrating as hard as he could, Ivan managed to catch snippets of the conversation.

_'... always loved sunflowers.'_

_'They are very pretty...'_

_'I think you're...'_

_'Wait, what?'_

_'Da, what I said was...'_

Without any warning or any provocation, the smaller man leapt forwards, kissing the doppelgänger full on the mouth.

Before Ivan could protest, before he could run out and ask the man what he was playing at, the scene slowly began to fade around him. As he tried to run, he realised his legs could barely move half a metre. His torso couldn't budge at all, and a loud beeping noise resonated throughout his ears. With each progressively loud beep, parts of Ivan began to fade into the blackness that now enveloped him. His legs dissipated as though made of smoke, then his hands, arms, scarf and finally his torso.

For a moment he could have sworn he watched his own heart disappear, as though it never really existed at all.

* * *

><p>Ivan awoke with a start.<p>

_The beeping in the dream seems to have carried into reality_, he thought for a moment, adjusting his seat so that he could lean back and remain upright. He looked around, eyes still bleary from sleep, when he noticed the windshield interface of the spinner was flashing. He unlocked the interface, opening the audio file that had been sent to him by the police force. Was it Bonnefoy with more information about the case? He hoped it was not, but he wasn't sure.

'Blade Runner designated nine one two two seven one Ivan Romanovich Braginski, you are in violation of traffic ordinance M-139 – statutory freeway limit restricted by one-hundred and eighty kilometres. Your speed at time of infringement was two-hundred and fifty kilometres per hour. You have been fined for three thousand dollars, ordered to be paid immediately."

"The fine for speeding seems to have gone down." Ivan muttered absently, a mildly amused look on his face.

Slowing down, switching off the automatic travelling system and the windshield interface, Ivan continued to steer the spinner along the winding street, mere minutes away from the Heinrich Corporation's headquarters in the affluent Pyongyang district. He thought about a phone call he had made hours before to the Blade Runner he had been assigned with – Alfred Frederick Jones. It was not a pleasant call; that much would remain in Ivan's head until his dying moments. He frowned deeply, trying to search his brain for the information that his now extremely displeased superior officer had told him. Being in retirement meant the advancement of technology left him completely out of the loop.

Simply put, Ivan did not know how to kill a Nexus Six properly.

Oh, he had done the job with relish. But five shots before successfully retiring a Nexus Six would definitely be in the realm of 'far too many'. It could be a life or death situation next time, and he wasn't sure he was up to the job. Not that he would ever admit such weakness in a million years. No, oh God no. For Ivan, the chances of giving Alfred the opportunity to mock any weakness of his – whether they were perceived or otherwise – was slim to none. He scowled at the thought of the man. A year his junior, and Alfred was already more bitter and spiteful than men twice Ivan's age. Granted, he could easily understand why a man like Alfred had become so bitter at such a young age. He just didn't want to.

Pulling out his phone from his overcoat, he decided to re-listen to the conversation he had with Alfred through his call logger, if only to jog his memory. He drifted in and out, until he heard his own voice ask a very important question.

"Tell me about the Sixes."

"Nexus Sixes are constructed of skin-flesh culture, just like any other model. They are all capable of selected endogenic transfer conversion, of self-perpetuating thought and para-physical abilities. These skin jobs were and are developed for the emigration program."

"How do I stop one?"

"You goddamned _dumbass_. Well, unlike a five – which you of all people should know about – they can sustain massive traumas to several parts of the body without debilitating another. Sever a leg and it will perform quicker on the remaining leg than the fastest man can run. You writing this down, champ? Wait, I'll get Artie to draw it for you. You always had trouble with words." Alfred sneered.

"You never answered my question, Alfred." Ivan heard himself say in that unnervingly calm tone of his.

"I'm coming to that, ass. These skin jobs' vulnerable zone is the base of the skull, known as the occipital bone. A direct hit is a positive retirement."

"Uh, the back of the neck?" He asked curiously.

"Did I stutter?"

"It used to be the spine." He said with a frown, ignoring Alfred's rudeness.

"Well, that's not my problem. The Heinrich Corporation is constantly improving their Nexus technology, isn't it? Why would they keep the faults of the old models in their new ones? Seriously, it's all so obvious; I sometimes wonder if you're a chickenhead who plays a very convincing Blade Runner. Jesus."

"That was a little unnecessary, Alfred. Aren't 'heroes' supposed to avoid hypocrisy at all costs? I was told that the phrase was 'people in glass houses shouldn't throw stones'. Huh. I guess I was wrong."

"Shut your goddamned whore mouth, _Kalashnikov_."

"Please refrain from calling me Kalashnikov, Jones. For your sake, _balshoye spasiba_."

"Oh? Why the fuck not, Kalashnikov?"

With that, Ivan exited the call logger, completely done listening to himself bicker with Alfred. He rolled his eyes at the other's stupidity, still steering his spinner towards the Pyongyang District and the Heinrich Corporation.

People could be a lot like machines, Ivan thought to himself. Machines in this day and age could be very helpful, but they could just as easily be major pains in the ass. He looked fondly at his finder, thinking of when the technology was far shakier and far newer. The last time he remembered using the sleek – arguably tawdry – finder. He had asked for a trace on a 'forger' and, due to a shockingly loud static crackle that had nearly destroyed the connection, managed to wind up at a steel mill.

Truthfully, he had by no means any real issues with the devices in question, though. If anything, Ivan found them to be the best inventions yet – when they were fully-functional. What he did find annoying, however, were the aforementioned static crackles that seemed to come with the damned things like an unwanted expansion pack. He supposed he couldn't blame the creators; it was not their fault that the irradiated atmosphere did not make for good wireless internet. He recalled his sister – his beloved Katyusha – telling him that man often made machines in his own image. Fitting, considering the five hundred million diagnosed chickenheads and antheads on Earth.

In his rear view mirror Ivan could see two black-clad motorcycle officers coming up behind him like the hounds of hell. They drew silently alongside him as he pulled to the side, allowing other spinners past. Pressing his Blade Runner registration and identification card to the radiation-proof glass of the spinner, Ivan turned his head away from the view of the officers. Making sure to still see their actions, he saw that the one on the left tossed a salute as his partner accelerated, offering him a thumbs up. They vanished into the traffic ahead of Ivan and as they faded into distance, Ivan realised something.

Those officers weren't just any police officers.

They were officers Karpusi and Honda.

Ivan's eyes widened.

_Were they watching me?_

Arminius Heinrich's claim to fame was one that was both dangerous and unstable at best. Making a product and selling it as more human than an _actual_ human would never end well, Ivan was sure. Sometimes 'more' turned out to be the problem, as was typical in life. Less is more was the phrase, wasn't it? This case wasn't just a single escaped Nexus. It wasn't one rogue that ran out of fear after breaking their owner's arm or being abused by their malevolent master – there were over twenty people dead. This was organised; this was planned. These skinjobs knew what they were doing.

This would lose the Heinrich Corporation billions, if not trillions, of dollars.

So far the Heinrich Corporation had managed to keep the rogues from Gemini-Pollux as little more than a rumour on the other offshore colonies; the remaining earth-dwellers hadn't heard so much as a whisper on the matter. That isn't to say the company hadn't received bad publicity in the past, however. Most complaints came from men and women alike who found that the androids deserve equal rights. 'What measure is a non-human?' They all asked, though their complaints perpetually fell on deaf ears.

Conversely, there were those in the offshore community that found the use of androids to be disgusting. They were the driving force in the Unified Nations' military – they were so strong and so intelligent that they left humans completely redundant. Human workers' unions hated the use of the Heinrich Corporation's Nexus androids, often inciting massive android killing sprees on the offshore colonies. This Ivan knew all too well; according to Yekaterina, his own little sister Nataliya had to be subjected to five consecutive Voight-Kampff tests before a raging mob let her go.

Ivan left the spinner parked on the fifth underground level of the Heinrich Corporation's high-security headquarters. He took off his blood-splattered overcoat and scarf and, noting that his white shirt was surprisingly blood-free, he put a large leather jacket on top. Locking his spinner, Ivan made a beeline for the elevator. He scanned his identification card on the entrance, nodding politely at the short, blonde female employee that already occupied the elevator. She smiled. Ivan smiled in return.

"What floor would you like, sir?" She asked in a meek voice.

"Ninety fifth, _pazhaluista_."

Ah, so she was a lift operator. Strange to see such an old profession that still existed – the last time there was any record of a lift operator was in the early twenty-first century. Granted, that did not mean that the job had been removed entirely. Only a moment passed before the doors _pinged_ open, revealing the silhouettes of an elderly man and a young woman facing away from Ivan at the other end of the very large office. Moving out of the elevator, Ivan tried to see if he could make out any details of the two, but the glare from the shifting green aurora bouncing off the cold, metal floor prevented him seeing anything. Ivan frowned, continuing to move towards the mysterious duo.

"Ah, I would say that it's good to see you again, _Kalashnikov_, but I wouldn't want to be made into a liar!" Called the old man as he turned, laughing gleefully.

"No, you wouldn't; not at this particular juncture in your career, Heinrich. However, if you _weren't_ a liar I wouldn't be here, would I?" Ivan responded with a forced smile. Arminius Heinrich moved to meet him in the middle of the office, a smile on his face as they shook hands. Ivan ran his fingers through his still slightly sticky (though thankfully no longer bloodied) hair. Arminius chuckled, gesturing towards the woman next to him.

"Ivan, this is my newest assistant, Miss Madeleine Williams."

The woman that stood before Ivan was, in his opinion, a rarity in the godforsaken planet he lived on. She had curly blonde hair in a strange twist on the nineteen forties victory rolls hairstyle, a heart-shaped face and a warm smile. Exactly as he noticed the last facial characteristic, she frowned. Ivan knew he was probably gaping, but at that moment he didn't care in the slightest. No woman could ever be all things to all men, but this woman was pretty damned close. _The only problem_, Ivan thought_, is that she's all business_.

'_Some beauty would better be avoided_,' he once heard. He pretended he never did. For Ivan, she was like a dream.

A strangely familiar dream.

"Well, like Arminius said, my name is Madeleine Williams. As I'm sure you're aware, this is Doctor Arminius Heinrich, head of the Heinrich Corporation. As his assistant, he has informed me that the city's Blade Runner Unit doesn't believe our new model of Nexus is to the benefit of the public." She said in a formal tone, her face becoming completely inexpressive._ The ultimate poker face_, Ivan thought as he slowly came back to reality.

"Da, that is correct," Ivan answered with a patronising smirk. He had one thing in his mind now: Voight-Kampff a six and get the _hell_ out of there.

"Miss Williams, a Nexus android is like any other machine; it can be a benefit, or it can be a hazard. If it's a benefit, then it's not our department's problem." He finished. Madeleine gave him a smug look in response.

"But because your department can't do an adequate job at detecting the _miniscule_ number at large, it _is_ a problem. Would that be correct to say, Runner Braginski?" She said, her face changing from a smirk equal to that of Ivan's to an expression that suggested that she was a hair's breath away from laughing.

Ivan bit his lip, not sure how to respond. Arminius grinned, relieving some of the tension by standing up and distracting the pair. Ivan could have sworn that he heard the small woman mutter something about someone being a 'goddamned hoser'. Arminius chuckled.

"Well, Runner Braginski, don't you think that it's time you get to doing what Captain Bonnefoy sent you here for?"

"Uh, Sir, isn't there paperwork that you need to sign and fill out before you direct me to the location of the Nexus so that I may perform the Voight-Kampff test?" Ivan asked.

"Oh! Why yes, there is. Well, I presume that you have filled in your section of the paperwork––" Ivan nodded; " –– Excellent! Well, then, I shall fill in the forms. It should only take a moment. Madeleine, please lead Runner Braginski to the testing room." Arminius said, gesturing towards the door and turning towards his desk. Madeleine nodded, gesturing that Ivan should follow her.

Ivan nodded as he was led by Madeleine into a canopied corridor. He never did answer her question about the city's Blade Runner Unit; he was too surprised by her sharp tongue to do much more than stare. After a few moments in the long and winding corridor, Madeleine slowed down. It was then Ivan realised that there were hundreds of animals of all species and all breeds lining the corridor. Madeleine stopped at a window, staring out at the city below. Ivan tried to relax.

"Arminius will take a while, you know." She mumbled, not looking at Ivan.

"How long have you been a Blade Runner?" She asked in a tone Ivan did not know she was capable of. It was soft; quiet without whispering. As he turned to face her, she blushed. Ivan stood in silent wonder for a moment, surprised by her rapid change in demeanour. Oh, and that she was blushing.

Definitely that.

Not that he minded.

"Well, I've been a Blade Runner since I was sixteen. So, roughly eleven years, not including my first early retirement from my job."

"Wait, you were retired? What d'you mean by that?" She asked, sceptical. Ivan frowned again, moving away to avoid answering the question. It really wasn't a moment he wanted to rehash.

He instead chose to look at the animals, his eyes drifting from an Enderby Island rabbit, to a Barbados raccoon, finally settling on a polar bear. He frowned, observing the creature and wondering how it could possibly be comfortable in such a small space – if it was comfortable at all. It opened its eyes, blinking blearily. Ivan reached out to it.

"Do you like our polar bear, Ivan?"

Ivan nodded, looking at Madeleine once again.

"I didn't tell you my first name, though. Did I, Miss Williams?"

She smiled at him, an unusual and almost devious look in her indigo eyes.

"No, you didn't."

Ivan raised his eyebrows. Deciding that it was best to not pursue the matter just yet, Ivan looked back at the sleepy polar bear. Something was off about the small creature.

"Is it artificial?"

"Of course it is. All of the remaining real ones are in the Fenno-Swedish and the Australo-Zelandic colonies on Europa, Titan and Enceladus. You should know that, Runner Braginski––"

"You can call me Vanya, if you would prefer it," he said, looking down to avoid Madeleine's gaze; "You already know my first name, so it isn't like it matters."

Madeleine nodded, turning and walking off. When Ivan realised that she did not mean to walk away and leave him behind, but instead use a nonverbal cue to lead him to the testing room he followed, slightly embarrassed. He left roughly a metre between himself and her. Madeleine again decided to establish some form of a conversation with him.

"Can I ask you a very personal question, Vanya?"

"Uh, sure. Go ahead." Ivan said with a nervous smile.

"Have you ever retired a human by mistake?" She asked, her voice soft.

Ivan blinked, mentally doing a double-take. Madeleine gave him an apologetic look, reaching into her black blazer pocket and pulling out a packet of cigarettes. She opened the top, taking out one cigarette and lighting it with a stainless steel lighter she seemed to have pulled out of thin air.

"Uh, er, n-no." Ivan stammered.

"You hesitated there Ivan. Are you sure you have never retired a human, even if it was by mistake? Even if it were accidentally?"

Ivan pondered this for a moment before answering. This woman was a trap. She would not relent until she had asked every personal question she could think of. _Arminius is probably getting her to interrogate me,_ Ivan thought with a scowl. Well, he knew how to deal with interrogators. Luckily, he could be completely honest in this situation.

"I am one hundred per cent certain that I have never mistaken a Nexus android, or any variation thereof, for a human. Nor have I ever retired a human by mistake or on purpose. Does that answer your question?" Ivan said coolly. Madeleine nodded.

"But that is a risk in your profession, isn't it?" She said with a puff of cigarette smoke. Ivan coughed pointedly, attempting to make her realise how uncomfortable he was – both with her smoking and with the questions she was bombarding him with.

"Madeleine, try to remember exactly _who_ is testing _who_." A familiar elderly voice said from behind them.

So Arminius had finally decided to show up.

"I'm sorry, Doctor Heinrich. I'll try to hold my tongue in the future." Madeleine said guiltily.

"Didn't I also say that this was a no-smoking facility?"

Madeleine's face flushed pink as she put out her cigarette on the metal of her lighter. She discarded the remaining butt of the cigarette as they passed by a trashcan, an almost wistful look on her face.

"Sorry, sir."

To Ivan's relief, the three of them had finally reached the door to the testing room. Madeleine unlocked the door, revealing it to be a far smaller version of Arminius' office. Ivan was the last of the three to walk into the room, letting Arminius and Madeleine in before him. He closed the wall-length door behind him, making sure that he did not slam it as he did so. As he sat down where Madeleine gestured that he should, he saw Arminius going through several folders – most of which were labelled as so secret that Ivan himself would not legally be permitted to see them, unless Arminius showed Ivan himself. Arminius closed the last folder, looking up.

"So Braginski, is this to be an empathy test? Capillary dilation of the so-called blush response? Fluctuation of the pupil and the involuntary dilation of the iris?"

"Da, but we call it the Voight-Kampff test for short." Ivan said, almost amused.

"Would you mind, Runner Braginski, if I watched you performing the test? I want to see you demonstrate it; I want to see the Voight-Kampff machine work."

"Not an issue, but where is the prototype, Doctor Heinrich?"

"Ah, that's just it, Braginski! I want to see a negative before I can provide you with a positive. I want to see it tested on a person, so you'll be performing it on Madeleine."

Accepting the cup of coffee that Madeleine offered, Ivan slowly registered what Arminius was saying. He looked at the cup of coffee – into its depths. It was as black as the look Ivan wished he could shoot at Arminius, who looked at him with an infuriatingly knowing smile. Ivan wondered if the older man realised how desperately Ivan wanted to get away from the Heinrich Corporation's headquarters.

"What would that achieve, Doctor?" He asked through gritted teeth.

"_Indulge me_, Braginski." Arminius responded with another chuckle.

"Er_, tak da_. It's very bright in here, sir." Ivan said awkwardly.

"I actually think it might be too bright to perform the test properly here, sir."

Always willing to oblige, Arminius reached underneath the table where the three were currently sitting, pressing a small button. As he did so, a large metal blind slowly slid halfway down the window, thus blocking out most of the sunlight.

"You're in a very unique position, Vanya." Madeleine said softly.

"The way you perform these tests will determine the future of your department, your job and the safety of every man, woman and child in this city. Furthermore, this will determine the safety of every person on every planet and moon we have managed to terraform and colonise that is in the possession of a Nexus android. That being said, the results of the next two Voight-Kampff tests you perform will also determine the future of the trillion-dollar Nexus Program as a whole."

"I know." Ivan said with a sigh.

"I know, Miss Williams."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> Soooo that's that. Madeleine is FINALLY HERE. ^_^; I hope you all liked the chapter.

Translations:

_Harashyego d'nya _- Have a nice day.

_Balshoye Spasiba_ - Many thanks; big thanks.

_Tak da_ - So, yes. (Used as an interjection.)

ALSO NEWS.

First, I have my School Certificate Exams _tomorrow_, so wish me luck! ;w; Second, I kind of… well… dropped my main computer, so I had to figure out how to print out this chapter and such without seeing the screen. Then I had to retype and edit it.

;A; It'll take a week or more in repairs, but Dreamers is _not_ on hiatus, so updates shouldn't be much more than a month or so apart.

Also, guess who the lift operator was. If you get it right, I'll upload the next chapter ASAP! :3

If there's anything that needs to be explained, feel free to PM me! I don't mind at all. ^_^

Oh, and here's the newest character for the character list.

**Character List:  
><strong>Rachael – Canada (Madeleine/Matthew Williams)


	7. Chapter 6: Methuselah and Hades

Chapter Six: Methuselah and Hades

_Disclaimer_: I own nothing, sadly. Every character and every concept here belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya, Phillip K. Dick and Ridley Scott. 8D;

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><p>Rain battered the rusty windows of the large building, the deep drumming sound echoing throughout each floor as the slightly radioactive and admittedly acidic precipitation met with the glass. As the rain fell a woman, appearing no older than twenty-one, walked down the main hallway of the third floor. She followed the sound of static crackles and electric buzzing noises from the third floor down a spiralling staircase to the second and, eventually, the ground floor. The woman walked closer to where the electronic noises – as well as soft cussing – could be heard.<p>

Opening the door to the room in question, the woman peered in to find an elderly-looking man hunched over a small electronic device, hissing as sparks flew from the mysterious object. She cleared her throat, nervously twirling her wavy brown hair in her fingers.

"Ve, what are you doing, Roderich?"

A gasp of surprise met her question.

"Don't do that! You scared me, Feliciana!"

Smiling coyly and biting her lip, Feliciana shrugged, choosing to look around the room. It was certainly a very dilapidated and old building, Feliciana was sure that it was once something quite grand. She looked at the other end of the room, seeing a dusty and abandoned grand piano. It seemed so old – at least two hundred years old, maybe more. Now it was covered in dirt and grime, the rich mahogany buckling under the weight of the various items of survival – both food and otherwise – that seemed to cover the entire building. Not that it was haphazard, by any means; each item was neatly stacked and labelled alphabetically.

There was just so _much_.

Roderich sat at a large work table, no longer bent over the small electronic device – now revealed to be the faulty eye that he had bought the day before. He looked at Feliciana with a soft smile. His left hand free, he gestured that she should sit next to him, which she did with a small _ve_. His right hand still held a sensor probe, which he had – up until now – been using with deft efficiency, despite his frustration at the eye. The one microchip, which sat directly underneath the optic disc, still sparked and flickered without Roderich's touch. He flipped up the magnetically-attached magnifier up from his glasses and away from his face, then back down again.

The microchip in question was no larger than a millimetre in diameter, though magnified with the lens Roderich had used it appeared to be an aerial view of a city. Returning to his work, he moved the needle-like sensor probe carefully over the contours of the configuration of the machine, testing the bonds.

A violently blue flash erupted from one of the junctures.

"Oh!" Feliciana gasped, instinctively moving back.

Roderich scowled.

"I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! It was all my fault, wasn't it, ve?"

Roderich sighed, the scowl leaving his face to be replaced by an exasperated expression.

"No, Feliciana. Please, try to be quiet. I am trying to work."

"Uh-huh, ve." She mumbled.

It was at that moment Roderich realised that Feliciana had changed her clothing and make up for something slightly older and more appropriate. Unlike before, her face did not bear thick likes of mascara and eyeliner, marring her face like tarry tear tracks. No longer was she wearing a short, poorly made smock with a ripped hemline, shreds of ripped black lining hanging off its fraying edges. She now wore what looked like standard offshore colonist clothes – a mismatched outfit consisting of various tie-dye patterns.

"You look better now." He said quietly, a smile on his wrinkled face.

"_Just_ better?" Feliciana said with a pout.

"You look beautiful, Feli."

She blushed.

"_Grazie_, ve."

"I made some food while you were sleeping. It's still in the oven if you're hungry."

"Oh! Thank you!"

She ran off towards the kitchen on the same floor. A shrill squawk of delight could be heard, even by Roderich's aging ears, as Feliciana positively _bolted _back with a bowl of pasta and the look of a child who had been told that Christmas would last until March. She thanked Roderich endlessly, walking around the room and eating the pasta with her bare hands.

"There are forks, you know." Roderich said, still trying to repair the microchip.

"I couldn't find any." Feliciana said with a frown. Roderich shrugged; there probably weren't that many anyway. It was a wonder he himself found some for when he ate.

"Oh." He responded, uncertain of what was to be said. An awkward silence, broken by the frequent and jarring noises of electronic sparks, followed.

"So, do you live in this building all by yourself?" Feliciana asked suddenly. Roderich took off his glasses, giving up on the bionic eye.

"Yes, I live alone right now. Well, at least there isn't a space shortage when it's just me, huh? There's plenty of room." Roderich said, feigning a lightness that he knew even Feliciana could detect was not truly there. Feliciana sat down on a relatively empty couch, looking back at Roderich with a pitying expression. _So he's completely alone_, she thought, saddened by the man's predicament.

After observing Roderich for a few moments, she realised something.

Something about Roderich's hair. Roderich's hair wasn't grey, as one would expect from a man Roderich's age. It was dark brown.

"How old are you, Roderich?" She asked innocently. _Surely this couldn't be him_, she thought; _I'm just not lucky enough for it to be––_

"Uh, I'm twenty. Well, I'm twenty one in a month." Roderich said nervously.

_So he was._

"Then why do you, you know," Feliciana balked; "Ve, Roderich. Why do you look, well, a lot older than that?"

Roderich frowned. The topic of his apparent and actual age was never an easy topic for him to talk about – it never had been. It was one of the few topics Roderich could be asked to talk about that gave him a significant amount of emotional pain. What he did know, however, was that not telling Feliciana about the reason for his aged appearance would inevitably lead to her pestering him about it for hours on end. Deciding to cut to the chase and save himself the trouble of dealing with Feliciana, he gave in and told the young woman.

"I have Methuselah Syndrome." He whispered, avoiding Feliciana's curious gaze.

"W-what's that, ve?" She asked somewhat timidly.

"Well, it's my glands. They cause me to age faster. It's all one of the effects of the irradiated atmosphere on human genetics." He said, biting his lower lip.

"Is that why you're here on Earth and not in the colonies, Roderich?"

"Y-yes. Essentially. I couldn't pass the medical test that would allow me to go. I wouldn't be able to survive the flight to any colony, even to the Väinämöinen-Oxenstierna colony on Mars. Half a week without adequate gravity is too long for my aging bones. I would lose far too much bone density, and as a result my immune system would deteriorate even further. I could die." He said sorrowfully.

Feliciana frowned, placing her empty bowl on the small table in front of her and walking over to Roderich. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders in a tight hug.

"Well, it doesn't matter. Ve, I like you j_ust the way you are_." She whispered. Roderich shuddered slightly at her warm breath near his ear.

"Er, did you ever contact that friend of yours? What was their name again?"

"Oh! Luddy! Yes, I did, ve! Luddy said that everyone was really busy last night and today, but they will try to come and find me as soon as they could. Luddy said sometime tomorrow, if that's alright with you." She said, blushing lightly. It took a moment for the implications of her statement to catch up with him.

"Oh, well you can stay another night if you want to, Feliciana. You know where everything is, after all."

Feliciana jumped up and down, hugging Roderich again.

"_Grazie! Grazie!_ Thank you so much, Mr Edelstein!"

* * *

><p>The grey sky seemed to be almost bursting to pour out rain, lightning and thunder as it had the previous day onto the city below it. Roderich had already been awake for an hour and Feliciana hadn't been awake for much longer than that. The former was at the newly cleaned kitchen counter, attempting to beat half a dozen artificially made chickens' eggs in a cheap, plastic mixing bowl. The latter sat on the couch, still half asleep and trying to get the hang of this dull Thursday.<p>

Feliciana never got the hang of Thursdays.

Despite the exhaustion of the young woman on the couch, it was a peaceful moment in the apartment. The only noise beyond Roderich's egg-beating was that of – ironically enough – a chicken-like robot on the windowsill breaking the silence. It was too peaceful a scene to last for long, they both knew. As if to prove this point to them, the doorbell rang.

"That should be Luddy, ve." Feliciana said with a wide smile and a large yawn, standing up and stretching for a moment. The doorbell rang again.

Feliciana moved towards the door, Roderich hearing the distinct _click_ of the latch unlocking. He smiled, turning back to the eggs. It was a slow process for a man who was genetically in his seventies but he didn't mind, so long as his new friend was happy. He turned as he heard Feliciana approaching the kitchen. When he saw who was standing next to Feliciana, he dropped the mixing bowl out of fear and shock.

Thankfully, Feliciana reached out and caught the bowl, muttering a quiet '_whoops'_ and placing it back on the counter. She stood back up, a grin on her face.

"This is my friend Luddy– er, Ludwig!" She said happily.

"Luddy, this is my saviour for the past two nights – Mr Edelstein!"

Fear flickered in Roderich's eyes as he stood; he felt as though he were a mere molecule in comparison to the hulking mass that stood before him. To Roderich, Ludwig seemed to stand at three metres tall, made of almost pure muscle. He looked as though he were the type of man who could pick Roderich up with one hand – crushing him with a single finger. Despite this intimidating appearance however, the man smiled and nodded politely, extending a hand towards Roderich in a friendly gesture.

"My name is Ludwig Beilschmidt. It is a pleasure to meet you, ah," he said in a lightly accented voice, trailing off.

"R-Roderich Edelstein." He stammered in response, gingerly reaching out and shaking Ludwig's hand. Ludwig looked down at Roderich, concerned.

"I can't thank you enough for saving my Feli from a night in the city streets. It was awfully kind of you, Mr Edelstein." Ludwig said with a sincere smile.

Feliciana made another _ve_ noise, leaning her head on Ludwig's shoulder and smiling softly. Ludwig and Roderich – both clearly finding the situation awkward – looked away from each other. The latter, however, could not help but notice that Ludwig's cheeks were suspiciously pink. Wishing wholeheartedly to alleviate the awkwardness of the situation, Roderich cleared his throat and took the first step – initiating a conversation with Ludwig.

"Well, uh, where are you two from?"

Ludwig and Feliciana frowned.

"Well, let it suffice to say that we're not used to the big city. Where we come from it's, well, not so easy to get lost." Ludwig answered politely, gently placing an arm around Feliciana. She leant into him even further, shivering slightly. Oddly, he was cold to the touch - far too cold for Feliciana's liking. She looked up at him, perplexed. _Ludwig wasn't usually this cold, and even if it was cold outside he should be able to retain his body heat better than most, _she thought.

"This is a nice place, Mr Edelstein. It is all very neat, very well stocked." Ludwig said, impressed.

Roderich smiled slightly, muttering a small 'thanks' in reply. He wasn't sure how to react - he had never been complimented on his home before.

"Roderich doesn't like to go out much, Lud." Feliciana whispered.

"T-that's true. I keep a lot of provisions right here, so I don't have to go anywhere." He said somewhat sheepishly, looking down at the tiled floor and splaying his palms out at his sides as if admitting guilt.

"I like a man who can stay put," Ludwig said with a reassuring smile, adding, "I think it's admirable to be able to stay in one place and be able to sustain yourself in these times. You live here all by yourself, do you?"

Roderich nodded in response. Somehow, he felt it would be embarrassing to tell a man like Ludwig about his many mechanical 'friends'.

"We haven't found life here very easy, Mr Edelstein. You're lucky you have a place like this, you know." Ludwig said, drifting off as he sensed the awkward atmosphere that radiated from the scene. Feliciana frowned, for once also sensing the mood of the scene and - surprising as it was for Ludwig - actually refraining from speaking.

"Well, uh, why don't I make breakfast?" Roderich offered.

"I was just going to make some, anyway."

"Oh, we wouldn't want to be too much of an intrusion or overstay our welcome, Mr Edelstein. Isn't that right, Feli?" He said, staring pointedly at the small brunette. Feliciana looked up at Ludwig with a pouting expression. She was _hungry_, damn it! Couldn't Ludwig see that? She narrowed her eyes at Ludwig, scowling at him. After a moment under his unwavering and intense gaze she conceded, nodding.

Roderich shrugged.

"It's no intrusion, Mr Beilschmidt. It's nice to have company, if only every once in a while."

Ludwig's eyes widened as he smiled again, a hungry expression suddenly appearing on his face.

"Well, if it isn't an intrusion, then I'm famished. What about you, Feli? Did you have anything to eat?"

Feliciana nodded.

"Roderich made me pasta, ve! But that was last night, so I'm very hungry now." She said, a low growl in her stomach confirming this. Ludwig leant down slightly, lips hovering next to Feliciana's left ear.

"At least you had something to eat last night, _liebe_." Ludwig said softly, moving away and sitting down at the dusty wooden breakfast table in the next room. Taking a moment to realise the implications of saying what he had said – as well as who he had said them to, and what the most likely reaction from Feliciana would be – Ludwig suddenly hoped that he has whispered too quietly or too quickly for her to hear him. His hopes were, sad as it is, crushed in the seconds that followed.

There was a moment of silence in the kitchen broken by a startled gasp. This gasp was followed by the sound of someone sprinting, as well as the distinct sound of Ludwig's palm hitting the centre of his forehead. As he looked up, he saw that Feliciana was standing over him with the most genuinely horrified expression she could muster.

"What? You didn't have anything to eat last night, Luddy?" Feliciana said, shocked by the very thought of not getting regular meals. Sometimes she was so damned motherly it disturbed Ludwig.

"Ve, Lud, why didn't you come here last night, then? I don't think Roderich would have minded, ve, and I could have made you something! Luddy, are you okay? Luddy? I can't believe you didn't eat! We need to get some food into you right now, ve! This is _serious_, Ludwig!" Feliciana said, running around and collecting food to add to the already large breakfast that Roderich had been slowly making.

Ludwig sighed, rolling his eyes. He closed them for a moment, leaning forward and resting his head on the table. As Feliciana panicked and ran around the two adjoining rooms, calling out and grabbing food, Ludwig slowly lifted and lowered his head an inch up and down, gently banging his head on the table as Roderich looked on. After several minutes of food grabbing and loud yelling, Feliciana slowly began to listen as Roderich quietly explained that Ludwig seemed fine, and that she should really stop throwing food around and just sit down while he made the meal.

She nodded weakly, sitting down next to Ludwig and looking into his wide eyes. She looked at the dark circles around them, the greenish black hue a sharp contrast to the almost grey blue irises of his eyes. Thanking whatever higher being there may be, Feliciana noted that his eye shine was not visible in this greyish light – even if he had obviously not gotten any food or sleep the previous night. She sighed, reaching out and holding his large, coarse and calloused hands in her small, delicate ones.

"You didn't get any sleep." She stated, her statement neither an accusation or a question. Ludwig nodded.

"Luddy, tell me what happened. _Why_ didn't you sleep? Why didn't you eat?"

He sighed, helpless against her puppy dog eyes.

"Feli, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I-I don't know how to say it. I'm sorry."

"What happened, _amore mio_?"

"I-I tried," Ludwig said, sniffing slightly, "I didn't know what to do. There's only the three of us left – probably only you and I, really. I'm so sorry."

"Ludwig, what are you saying?" Feliciana said, her throat feeling tight.

"T-Toris. He was working when one of the bastards got him. Shot him in the chest. Twice."

Feliciana started to tear up, her shoulders shaking as she tried to stifle the tears before they could come. Ludwig, looking sorrowful and remorseful, held Feliciana. Giving in to his embrace, Feliciana sobbed in earnest. She clung to the material in his shirt, tears running down her face as she mourned the loss of a friend. Trying to comfort her, Ludwig rubbed small circles on her small back. Somehow this only seemed to make her cry harder.

"W-We're stupid and we're going to d-die, Ludwig," She said between sobs.

"I can feel it. I can feel it in my heart – we're not going to make it out of this alive." She said, choking down a particularly large sob.

"Not if we do what we planned to do, and we do it correctly." Ludwig whispered into her soft, brown hair. He looked up, noticing Roderich staring at the two with a childlike curiosity. When Roderich registered that he was being a nuisance he turned around, intent on paying closer attention to the eggs and avoiding Ludwig's cold glare.

Ludwig's face softened as Roderich looked away. He lifted Feliciana's face, gently cupping her cheeks and kissing her forehead. He lowered one hand to Feliciana's, holding it as he cleared his throat.

"How have things been while I've been out?" He asked quietly, jerking his head in Roderich's general direction.

"I don't really trust him, ve." Feliciana confided in a bare whisper.

A bell sounded in the kitchen.

"He knows what he's doing, _liebling_." Ludwig responded, giving Feliciana a reassuring smile. She frowned.

"What if he doesn't cooperate?" She fretted.

"From what I've observed, Feli, _Herr Edelstein_ is a host who wants to be appreciated." He said, clearing his throat again and looking directly into Feliciana's eyes.

"We'll appreciate him, and he'll cooperate."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> So yes, it was Liechtenstein.

*waves fist*

I would've been faster, but with my computer totaled I _do_ have to retype and rewrite a lot. ;w;

Thank you to my readers and subscribers, and a special thanks to everyone who has either this fic or me listed under 'Favourite Story' or 'Favourite Author'. Thankyouu~

There's no change in the character list, and if any terms need to be defined you can all PM me~!

Oh, and happy five monthaversary, Lividlillies!

You should all go read her fics. They are quite amazing. Have a look if you haven't already.

:D


	8. Chapter 7: Second Retirement

Chapter Seven: Second Retirement.

_Disclaimer: _Everything belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya, Phillip K. Dick and Ridley Scott.

_Warning_: There is violence. Gore, too. Don't say I didn't warn you all. :≤

_Notice_: I don't hate RusLiet at all; don't hurt me! D:

* * *

><p><em>Three hours earlier.<em>

_Central United Police Station._

_Blade Runner Headquarters._

"Ah, well, Ivan," Francis said, clearing his throat and watching the large seated figure in front of him, trying to look for some semblance of a reaction. The younger and taller remained motionless, a fake smile plastered on his unshaven face as Francis flipped through the manila folder for more information.

"The replicants escaped despite the fact that the civilian ship they had hijacked was fired at by at least fifty C-grade laser firing automatic rifles. They escaped via the Tannhauser departure gate and, as I'm sure you're aware, arrived here on earth two weeks later. Over twenty people dead, et cetera, et cetera." Francis said with a vague hand gesture, reading out the report as if reading out a particularly boring shopping list. He had done this so very many times; after the thirtieth case the shock had eroded away like the dirt at the edge of a river. Closing it, he placed the off-white folder on his desk and slid it towards Ivan. Eyes lifting from the desk, he again looked at Ivan. The man's eyes were wide, his jaw slack.

He closed it, grinding his teeth and attempting to suppress rage before he spoke.

"Where the _fuck_ were the attack ships, Francis?" Ivan growled.

Francis closed his eyes, inhaling deeply.

"Ah, well, the thing about that is—"

"There weren't any, were there?"

"N-no. There _was_ one. _Was_ being the operative word, _cher_."

"Then why the fuck didn't– wait, _was_? _What_?" Ivan snapped.

"It turned out that the hijacked ship had a weapons dock."

"Oh, what the fuck, Francis—"

"The attack ship was incinerated, mon cher."

Ivan gaped, swallowing hard. Francis shook his head slowly, patting Ivan's shoulder in a halfhearted attempt at consolation. Feeling the other stiffen at his touch, he instinctively moved away.

"Which idiot fresh out of training school am I assigned to this case with?" Ivan said, his tone suddenly cold and businesslike. He turned his head towards Francis, his eyes frosted glass.

"You are assigned to this case with Runner Jones."

"You're fucking with me, _da_?" Ivan said, temporarily suppressing a snarl.

"_Non_, cher Ivan, I most certainly am not."

"He's in the hospital, you frog-sucking moron. Who am I expected to do the fieldwork with? You know as well as I that it's against the law for _one_ Runner to do the fieldwork. For all you know, I or Jones could be in cahoots with the replicants." He snarled. Francis shivered under Ivan's gaze, feeling as though the temperature in the room had dropped several degrees.

"W-we will 'ave another officer assist you for the fieldwork."

"Oh? It better not fucking be that one fuck – Runner Hernandez, was it? The one that was born in Havana? That guy fucked up so badly on the––"

"No, no! It won't be a _Runner_ assisting you, Ivan. Though you will have to talk to Runner Jones about the Nexus Six models."

Ivan's eyes narrowed.

"I should be _fine,_ thank _you_," he snapped.

"Who will help with the fieldwork?"

Francis jerked his head towards Ivan's left slightly, causing his eyes to follow the man's gesture. He blinked several times before it registered in his head that a small, light-blue paper sunflower sat on the table next to him. He picked it up, inspecting it for a moment. He shivered as he felt warm breath on his right ear.

"_Ah, __Runner __Kalashnikov. __I __believe __we __have __spoken __before._"

Ivan's eyes widened once more as he looked at Francis, who sat bemused in his chair.

"You really are fucking with me, aren't you?"

* * *

><p>Closing the door to the Blade Runner Headquarters behind him, Ivan turned and made a beeline for the front door of the Central United Police Station. His jaw clenched as tightly as his fists, Ivan stomped through the automatic doors like a small child who had been told that <em>no<em>, they could not get another candy and it's time for bed so go to sleep. He growled in frustration as he walked down a side alley and towards where his spinner was parked, kicking over a trash can with his foot in anger. He stood still as he heard footsteps behind him, rigid as a small figure walked to his side.

"_It __is __good __to __see __you __again, __Kalashnikov._" The man said, causing a bubble of irritation to well up in Ivan once more.

"Oh, Officer Honda. I do not speak Japanese, so unless you're here to talk to me about something important I'm going to kick over the rest of the trash cans in this alleyway, get in my spinner and head towards the Heinrich Corporation, _da_?"

Kiku cleared his throat before speaking in lightly-accented English.

"Ah, I do apologise. Old habits do tend to die hard, Runner Braginski." He said with a light chuckle.

Surprised by Kiku's fluency in English, his calm voice and his sudden politeness, Ivan hesitated before replying. He swallowed nervously, looking around as he slid into a small nook in the alleyway where he hoped that he and Kiku could speak without eavesdroppers. He gestured that Kiku should follow, which the other did without Ivan's hesitation. It was rank and dark, with water dripping from the leaking rusty pipes. All around him there was little light, but Ivan didn't mind, so long as no-one else was there. He leant against the slightly less mouldy of the two alleyway walls, wondering what the hell this was about.

"Can I ask what you are talking about, Officer?"

"It is about your case. We have found something of interest and great concern to not only you, but the department and the entire city. Perhaps even the state."

"Oh? What, pray tell, is this obviously _fascinating_ find?" Ivan said, words dripping with unnecessary condescension.

"Please do not use such a condescending tone with me, Runner Braginski." Kiku said in a quiet voice, his face free of any emotion.

"You're not answering my question, Officer." Ivan replied in a saccharine, sing-song tone of voice.

"Officer Karpusi and I have found what we believe to be the replicant Feliks Łukasiewicz's apartment."

Ivan gaped.

"Is this a joke, Kiku?" He said, trying to contain his surprise and keep his tone as even as Kiku's he spoke.

"Please refer to me by my correct title as Officer Honda, Runner Braginski. To answer your question, though, this is by no means a joke. Let it reassure you that I am not the type to play jokes, and even if I were, I would not play a joke on the great _Kalashnikov_."

Ivan barked a laugh, ignoring the other man's frown.

"Regardless, it is your case to solve. I have been commanded by Captain Bonnefoy to escort you to the apartment and assist you in the fieldwork while there, if you are willing to go. If you are not, however, then you will in all likelihood be escorted back to Captain Bonnefoy's office. Much like you were during our first meeting, actually." Kiku said, frown turning into a small smile.

"Well, you know what to do Officer Honda." Ivan said, grinning.

"How many back up units should I call for?"

* * *

><p>They had been in the apartment for a solid hour, and it was clear that even someone as calm and collected as Kiku Honda could not help but be bored. <em>Officer <em>_Karpusi __was __right_, Ivan thought. _Honda __rarely __gets __angry. __He__'__s __far __more __passive __than __aggressive; __I __must __have __really __pissed __him __off. __Ha._ Smiling in that disturbing way of his and continuing to think to himself, Ivan slowly looked through shelves and drawers in the apartment. He found nothing to suggest where Feliks or any of the other replicants were located, and his lack of any substantial findings was really beginning to grate on his nerves.

He slammed the draw shut on the next set of cupboards with a red and embarrassed face, trying to banish the mental image of the multiple women's underwear in the drawer. A voice echoed through the apartment moments after this.

"Something of interest, Runner Braginski?"

"N-no, Officer. Nothing yet!" he called back, attempting to hide his nervousness.

He carefully opened the next drawer, peering inside so as to not be frightened by its contents as he was with the previous one. He frowned as he rifled through it, seeing nothing of importance. He closed it, reaching the bottom drawer in the cabinet. Ivan tried to open the drawer by pulling the handle as forcefully as he had with the previous handles on every other drawer in every other cabinet, but was mildly startled when the metal handle snapped clean off of the wooden drawer's front panel. He frowned, kneeling down to try and open the drawer by pulling it out by the base.

_Damn,_ he thought with a frustrated pull. _The __drawer __is __jammed. __Fuck._

Sleep, alcohol and food deprived – as well as naturally irritable – Ivan grabbed both ends of the drawer and opened it with an unnecessarily aggressive pull. Losing his balance, Ivan fell backwards, hitting his head on the bed just behind him. He yelped at the sudden blow to his head, causing Officer Honda to run into the room.

"What happened Runner Braginski? Are you hurt?"

Blinking away the stars and orange spots that were glittering and swirling in front of his eyes, Ivan slowly moved to sit up properly. Kiku lifted the larger man as he tried to move into an upright position. Ivan groaned as Kiku moved his head forwards, inspecting the back of his head for any breaks in the skin.

"I'm fine Officer Honda. I just lost my balance, not a big deal. You should probably go back to inspecting the living room, comrade." Ivan said pointedly, ignoring the throbbing feeling he had at the back of his head. He waved the back of his right hand towards the door, implying that Kiku should ultimately leave through it. Kiku eyed him suspiciously.

"Is there something you are not telling me, Runner Braginski?" He said in a quietly suspicious tone.

Ivan raised an eyebrow at the question, mildly incredulous.

"There is nothing that I'm hiding from you, Officer." Ivan answered honestly – the underwear drawer didn't count, damn it. Ivan stood up, looking down at the much smaller man with a sinister and monumentally creepy smile. He cracked his knuckles, tilting his head to the side before continuing in a more nasal, accented English.

"Officer, I was simply _suggyesting_ that it would be wise for you to stay out of my way while I am looking for any _evidyence_ as to the androids' _whyereabouts_."

If Kiku was disturbed by Ivan's sudden change in behaviour, his face didn't show it. He made a soft _tsk_ noise before walking away and leaving the _Kalashnikov_ to his own devices. Rolling his eyes while he walked with his back to Ivan, Kiku left the small bedroom and closed the door. He hoped that the disturbing Blade Runner would calm down and quit his intimidation act before he got carried away. He didn't want anyone to have to get violent.

Ivan, on the other hand, chuckled as Kiku closed the door. Rubbing the back of his head, Ivan was content to discover that there was no blood at all. He kneeled once more, inspecting the now completely detached drawer. He examined its contents down to the smallest detail. When he reached the bottom of the drawer, he felt the chip wood base suspiciously. _Isn't this supposed to be made of cloned whole wood, not chip wood? _He wondered, frowning.

_Oh._

_Wait._

Ivan felt the inner right corner furthest from him, feeling a small gap between the chip wood and the whole wood. Just as he had suspected, it was a poorly constructed false bottom for the drawer. He lifted the false bottom off with ease, peering into the true depths of the drawer. Surprised, he discovered that there was nothing of significance in the poorly hidden section of the drawer, save for a small collection of polaroid photographs. He picked them up, flicking through them. It appeared to Ivan that most of them were of landscapes that were too clean, too pristine and too unfamiliar to be from Earth. All images, except for the last one.

The last image displayed the corner living room of the apartment Ivan and Kiku were currently in. Turning the lamp on top of the cabinet with a dull _click_, Ivan brought the image into the light provided.

Despite Ivan's original belief that the image simply depicted the room, the lamplight proved that he was completely and utterly wrong. Rubbing his tired eyes, he saw that the image depicted a man and woman in the corner of the room. The man's arms were draped around the woman, who Ivan noticed was sitting on his lap. While the man was blushing, it was clear that he was happy in the current position he was in with the small woman. The woman in the photograph – unlike the man – was not blushing, but smiling with uncontrollable joy and elation. She wore a small robe and a pair of shorts, and had one arm around the man's neck, the other instead holding on to his black t-shirt.

The sunlight in the photograph lit up their faces, illuminating the man's light blue eyes, warm smile and blond hair, as well as the woman's curly brown hair and wild grin – the former of which glowed like a halo around her sweet face. Ivan smiled at the beautiful photograph, until something clicked in his mind. He turned the photograph over, seeing the word "free" written in a childlike scrawl on the back. Ivan suddenly realised that the man and the woman looked strangely familiar.

"Shit." he hissed.

"T-that, no. It can't be."

Taking a deep breath, Ivan slowly slid the collection of images into one of the inner pockets of his large tan overcoat. He had proof of two of the four, but he needed something more than that. He needed some form of evidence that _Feliks_ lived in the apartment. Ivan turned on his heel, choosing to walk to the en suite.

Ivan nearly retched when he entered the room. If he thought that the living room or the bedroom were dirty, dilapidated and unhygienic, combined they were nothing to the bathroom. _No wonder someone posing as a low-ranking employee at the Heinrich Corporation was living in an unshared apartment__,_ Ivan thought with a frown and an attempt to not lose his breakfast in the sink next to him. He tried not to move too much in the room, trying to avoid God knows what sort of diseases that might be lurking in the walls or their various cracks, holes and crevasses.

Reaching the bathtub, he noticed something too light to be part of the growing mildew. Ivan conjectured that the replicants had not been in the apartment for weeks – not with this level of accumulated filth. He searched through his many pockets, grinning as he found what he was looking for. Turning on the small flashlight, he bent down to inspect the strange spots on the bathtub. Ivan's eyes widened when he realised what the strange, light spots were.

No larger than a five cent coin and only half the diameter, they were unmistakeable.

Scales.

_Reptile_ scales.

Ivan slowly walked out of the en suite, through the bedroom and into the living room, trying to contain his glee.

"What is it, Runner Braginski?" Kiku asked, curious.

"Scales, Honda. _Scales_." Ivan said, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet like a child.

Ivan lifted the small zip lock plastic bag he held the scale samples in, waving them in front of the other man's face. Kiku frowned, looking at Ivan as though he were a chickenhead. He finished folding the small origami flower that had been making out of aluminum foil. He turned around and placed it on the dirty table. Turning to face Ivan, his usually blank expression replaced by a mildly interested and slightly confused one.

"What is so significant about the reptile scales?"

"Are you _kidding_ me? If I can trace these scales back to Feliks or one of the other androids making a purchase, I'll have a lot more proof that they have lived here, and if I can get their new address or the number of their identification cards, I can use the RFID chips to track them and then I can _find __these __bastards!_" Ivan shouted with unrestrained glee. _He __seems to be __acting __as __though __Christmas __has __come __early_, Kiku thought.

"But Runner Braginski, do you really think that these replicants will have a permanent address, especially if they had vacated this apartment weeks ago?"

Ivan frowned.

"That is a valid point, comrade, but I believe the phrase is: 'If there's a will, there's a way.' I, Officer, am lucky enough to have _both_."

Kiku smiled, nodding in response.

* * *

><p>Ivan Braginski left the strange Officer Honda in the abandoned apartment, running through the busy city streets. He ran as fast as his legs could carry him, weaving through the crowd of people going in the opposite direction. He turned down an alleyway and ran, not caring that he had an increasingly painful stitch in his stomach. Finally reaching his destination, he had found the best cell and substance identifier, and an old 'friend' or sorts.<p>

Eduard Von Bock.

"So what creature is it from Eduard?" Ivan asked excitedly, moving back and forth on the balls of his feet.

"A s-snake, Mr. B-Braginski." Eduard stammered.

"I came out of retirement, comrade."

A large shudder passed through Eduard, chilling him to the bone.

Eduard did not, despite Ivan's firm belief to the contrary, have a speech impediment or mental disability. He was not a chickenhead or anthead, and was usually a very well spoken and eloquent man. Eduard was, however, a realistic man. A realistic man who knew for a fact that old habits died hard. Being a realistic man who knew that old habits died hard and having been a childhood friend of Ivan Romanovich Braginski, he knew the man surprisingly well. He knew that Ivan was the living embodiment of this cliché – he and his habits would, unfortunately, die hard.

He remembered when Ivan had first came to the former country of America from the former Russian Federation, not speaking a word of English. He remembered Ivan and his former army officer father, General (and later Admiral) Braginski – known by many simply as General Winter for his sheer ferocity and tenacity. He remembered young Ivan and how he was so small, dwarfed by his six foot five widower father. Ivan's father's black _ushanka_ and overcoat; Ivan's total adoration sunflowers and his older sister; his fear of his younger sister.

Eduard had a fantastic memory, simply put.

But just as easily as he could remember Ivan as a sweet if slightly off-kilter child, he easily remembered what a heartless and soulless monster Ivan had become when he first worked as a Blade Runner. Eduard remembered how Ivan had become a Blade Runner to make his father proud, since the former American and Russian militaries had been disbanded after World War Terminus and the formation of the World Union. He saw and was told how Ivan was broken by the training and his father still claiming that being a Blade Runner was not a sign of strength, how Ivan was little more than a policeman or a low-class hit man. A hired thug. A legal mobster.

He saw Ivan change from a sweet and caring young man into something vastly different – something to be feared.

After the three years of training, Ivan had returned to the city a changed man. Friendship turned to a necessary connection for both of the two to keep their job and – in Eduard's case – their life.

But he had retired, and Eduard had for several years believed that all was well in the world once more.

That was not the case.

When Ivan had admitted that he had left his days of retirement behind, Eduard had sincerely hoped that this was some sort of sick, sadistic joke. Sadly, part of him knew that Ivan would never joke about something so serious – a part of him he wanted to ignore, a part that his younger brother drank away after the steel mill incident. He only hoped that this time he would find a reason or find a way to not return to what he had been – a murderer for the state.

"O-okay, _R-Runner_ Braginski. To a-answer your question, it's a s-snake scale."

"I thought that most snakes had been moved to the colonies, and that real snakes were extremely rare here. Why did I find a snake scale, then?" Ivan asked, placing a friendly hand on Eduard's shoulder. The smaller man shuddered, causing Ivan to remove his hand to avoid the other feeling discomfort.

"It's a-artificial, Ivan. Very w-well made – one of the best I've ever seen, c-come to think about it – but if you would like to look at the m-magnifier screen you can clearly s-see the identification code on its edge."

Ivan frowned, moving to where Eduard had gestured he should stand to properly see the screen.

"Can you try to locate the owner of the snake, Eduard?" Ivan asked, pursing his lips.

"Y-yes, I suppose I could tr-try to."

Ivan smiled broadly.

Eduard flinched once more.

At this point Ivan sincerely hoped that the address Eduard had given him was a fake.

The building that stood before him was a dank and dirty, the words "TAFFEY'S BAR" flickering in a light blue neon in the half-light. He _tsk_ed at the building, shaking his head. _The __old __bastard __must __be __senile, __trying __to __pass __off __a __burlesque house __as __a __normal __bar_, Ivan thought, walking up to the front door.

Truthfully, there was little that could have told Ivan what lurked within, its front giving the impression that it was simply a normal – if incredibly dirty and seedy – bar. He frowned, knowing that he had based his knowledge of the bar off of something he would never have dared to admit to anyone else, even under threat of torture – previous experience. He shuddered, glad that his time out of the Blade Runner unit had aided him in ridding his habit of visiting such venues.

_Well, __this __better __be __where __the __owner __of __that __snake __is_.

Ivan opened the door, the smell of alcohol and smoke filling his nostrils. He bit his lip as he walked inside, hoping that he could find the owner of the snake, see whether or not they were one of the replicants and go to his meeting with Arminius Heinrich. He closed his eyes, remembering that Eduard said that the owner's name, according to the purchase transaction record, was simply Salome. No last name, no middle name. Just Salome. Rolling his eyes at the obvious and frankly _terrible_ alias, Ivan had a gut feeling that this was the last night for one of the replicants. Smiling as he opened his eyes, he made his way through the smoke and crowd to the back of the bar. Despite his large and distinct appearance, he managed to slip through the door, biting his lip as he tried not to stare at the various women and men passing by him.

A young man with mousy brown hair no longer than his chin and a large albino python wrapped around his neck walked past, catching Ivan's attention. Ivan cleared his throat and walked towards the young man, recognising him from the two large 'Salome' posters that were hung around the inside of the bar.

"E-excuse me, Salome? Can I talk to you for a minute?" Ivan said in a nasal voice that was not his own, approaching the young man. Salome turned around, green eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"I'm from the Unified Nations' Federation of Physical Artists."

Salome stopped in his tracks, tilting his head as though he were a confused deer entranced by a bright set of headlights.

"Oh, I'm sure." Salome said, completely unconvinced. Ivan nodded. Rolling his eyes, he gestured that Ivan should follow him, which the latter did without question.

"I'm not here to make you join, no sir! That's not _my_ department. Actually, euh, I'm from the confidential committee on – er – _moral_ _abuses_." Ivan said, hoping that the man would believe his blatant and terrible lies. As they entered Salome's dressing room, Ivan closed the door. Salome walked past him with a small nod of appreciation, placing the python in a large, open cage. He stroked its back, fingers running along the smooth, white and cream coloured scales. He looked up at Ivan, moving away from the snake while leaving its cage open.

"Committee on moral abuses?" Salome asked, trying not to laugh as he slid into the small shower in the corner of the room, closing the frosted glass door and turning on the water faucet.

"Yes sir. There's been some reports that the management has been taking, ah, _liberties_ with the artists in this place."

"I don't know nothing about it." Salome replied quickly.

"Well, euh, have you felt that you've been exploited by the staff in any way?"

"How d'you mean _exploited_?" He asked, half way between amused and incredulous.

"Well, uh, like, to get this job. I-I mean, didja do o-or didja have to do anything that could be considered lewd or unsavory or, ah, _otherwise_ repulsive to you or y-your person?"

Salome cleared the steam from the glass of the shower, staring at him for a moment before bursting out into laughter.

"A-are—" Salome tried to stop laughing before continuing.

"Are you for _real_?" He said, laughing into his hand.

"Oh, uh, yeah. I'd, ah, like to check your dressing room. If I may, th-that is."

"For what?" Salome snapped.

"For, euh," Ivan trailed off, thinking of a somewhat convincing lie.

"For holes!"

"_Holes_?" Salome asked, stepping out of the shower and wrapping a towel around his waist. He looked as though he was in complete and utter disbelief. Ivan kept a calm expression on his face, trying not to panic.

"Well, you'd be surprised what a guy or a girl would go through to, ah, to get a glimpse of a man like yourself."

Salome snorted, turning the switch on a hands-free hair dryer.

"I wouldn't mind, I guess. But what's so special about some holes?"

"Eh, ah, little, uh, dirty holes. They, euh, drill in the walls and they use it to watch others undress."

Though Ivan would never admit it, he again knew this due to previous experience.

Salome moved over towards a cheap, chip wood vanity. He reached in the top drawer, plugging in a hair dryer. He turned his head to each side as he dried off, running his fingers through his progressively drier hair. While he was doing this, Ivan peered around the walls of the room for holes. Being extremely lucky and knowing that he was being watched, he grinned when he spotted it. When Salome had finished drying his hair, Ivan called him over and pointed out a small hole just in the corner of Salome's doorless wardrobe. Mildly impressed, Salome walked over to the snake, petting it fondly on the top of its head.

"I-is that a r-real, eh, snake, Salome?"

Salome chuckled.

"Do you _really_ think I'd be working in a place like _this_ if that was a _real_ snake?"

This confirmed it for Ivan. He turned his head up and away from the python, noticing the small, nervous look Salome was giving the snake, thinking that Ivan wasn't looking. This was it. This wasn't Salome the dancer – this was Toris, the replicant that had partially caused the deaths of dozens of people and the incineration of a billion dollar attack ship. The snake hissed as Toris turned towards Ivan with a lopsided smile. He walked past Ivan, putting on pants, boots and a cheap plastic raincoat.

"So, if someone does try to exploit me, who do I go to?"

"Me."

"Well, you really are a dedicated man." He said, half-sarcastically.

Toris paused for a moment.

"Sorry, I think that there might be a tear in my overcoat. I can feel a little gap just around my back, just under the shoulder blade. Could you just check for me, in case I'm wrong?"

Ivan obliged, momentarily lowering his guard.

Ivan was thanked with an elbow to the neck so hard and so fast he hit the wall with the force it provided. Winded but conscious, he tried to get up as Toris ran out of the room. Forcing himself up, Ivan ran after him, slowly regaining his ability to breathe as he ran along, pushed onwards by adrenalin and shock. He pushed past the other performers, into the back alley of the bar and down the street. He slipped and skidded on the wet pavement, but the infamous Russian gun was not a man who gave up easily. He ran over cars and pushed past people, slowly but surely catching up to Toris as the latter ran away from certain death.

Momentarily disoriented, Ivan realised he was running in between two trams. He looked through both, eyes widening as he realised that Toris was only a tram's width away from him. He heard Toris gasp as the tram sped away faster than the both of them could run, Toris choosing to run towards the entrance to the underground section of the city. Ivan followed, his larger and heavier body and clothing causing him to struggle to keep up with Toris' smaller and lighter one. Toris entered the underground, Ivan looking down the entrance with a flustered look on his face. For a moment they simply stared at each other, one angry and the other fearful, Toris' facial expression almost a non-verbal plea for his life.

Ivan's mind caught up with the rest of him after a moment. Ivan reached into his overcoat, pulling out his laser gun and aiming it at Toris' head. _This __is __your __job, __Ivan,_ he reminded himself. _This __is __what __you __have __to __do._ Toris suppressed the urge to scream, instead choosing to run back up the stairs to the surface part of the city, hiding in a crowd of people.

It was no use; Ivan could spot him and his frantic gesticulations a mile off at this point in the chase. Ivan aimed at the smaller's back.

"Everyone move! Get the fuck out of the way!" He yelled at the top of his lungs.

A sound like a canon blast echoed through the street, shattering the windows of nearby buildings flightless vehicles. The street was silent, save for the sound of several car alarms and the odd scream. Ivan hollered in frustration, unfortunately missing the shot, causing the chase to continue. He ran, firing his laser once more only to miss Toris by mere centimetres.

"Fucking damn it!" He said, missing thrice more.

"What is this? Am I a fucking storm trooper?" He yelled, aiming one last time.

_Boom!_

It seemed that the fifth time was the charm for Ivan, as a large hole appeared on Toris' shoulder and chest, roughly the size of a saucer. Sparks flew and genetically engineered blood poured from the android's shoulder as he continued to run down the rain-slicked, busy street. Well, Ivan was certain this replicant wasn't going down without a fight. He shook his head, aiming his gun at Toris' back.

Ivan shot at Toris once more, this time creating a hole in the center of the replicant's chest. Toris struggled for a moment, determined to keep moving and seemingly only vaguely aware of the fatal injury he had received. For several moments he continued to run, eventually tripping and falling sideways through a store' glass display window. Dead before he hit the ground, sparks flew as the glass window pane shattered around him as he landed with a sickening crash. Everything that Ivan saw seemed to happen in slow motion, but he knew a large, incredibly sadistic part of him wouldn't have had it any other way. He smiled in satisfaction as the rogue fell to the ground, feeling his posture and thoughts change as he walked closer to the rogue's corpse. He leant over to Toris' dead body, turning him over with his left boot. A look of repulsion swept across Ivan's face as he saw the cuts and blood on Toris' face.

Ivan looked down on the body with a twisted, sadistic smile.

He turned and walked away, police sirens blaring in the background as he headed towards his spinner with his mobile phone in hand.

"Hello? Is this Runner Jones?" He asked in greeting.

"Ah, we need to have a little talk about these skinjobs, _tovarisch_."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> I have no idea why this took so long. ;A; I mean, it's been on my computer, all written and everything, but the editing process took waaay longer than usual. I don't even know, man. I honestly don't know.

*sob*

Well anyway, I actually love Lithuania and it took forever to try and write his death. ;A; Most chapters I can honestly write in a day, and edit in a week but that scene...! Buuut in the long run, it had to be done. asdfghjkl; Forgive me?

I hope you all liked this chapter, even if Liet was offed. ;w; I promise to be back on the normal timeline again for the rest of the story! (Which of course means we get to see more awkward!RusCan. :≥)

If there's anything that anyone needs explained (terminology or w/e), you can always PM me! 8D!

I don't bite, and neither does the review button. ;w;


	9. Chapter 8: Promise

Chapter Eight: Promise

_Disclaimer: _Everything belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya, Phillip K. Dick and Ridley Scott.

_Warning_: Gore and blood abounds. Don't say I didn't warn you. ;w;

* * *

><p>Smoke spiraled from a small cigarette, its pungent and toxic scent permeating the air. A feeling of irritation passed over the tallest member of the room as he sat, hunched over a table with his eyes focused on a small, yellowing notepad. He wrote notes in a small notepad, his eyes focused and his shoulders tense. <em>Something isn't right here,<em> he thought, a strange feeling making knots in the pit of his stomach.

He looked up, his upper lip twitching as the woman who sat across from him smiled. She inhaled the noxious fumes from her cigarette, eyes unblinking as more smoke billowed from both the cigarette and the corner of her mouth, her expression changing to one of mild boredom. Madeleine Williams rolled her eyes, wondering why she was still sitting this test.

The pointed cough of Arminius Heinrich echoed inside the room as if to remind the others of his presence. Truthfully, though, it was one of the few things that the two would be hard-pressed to forget. He jerked his head towards the larger man, as if to say '_keep talking, idiot_'. Two pairs of violet eyes met for the briefest of moments, Madeleine's uneasy chuckle sending nervous jitters down Ivan's spine. Madeleine looked up at Arminius, biting the inside of her cheek for a moment before speaking.

"Are you sure we can't have a small break, sir? We've been doing this test for hours." She said softly. The look Arminius gave her was more than enough to silence her.

Ivan frowned in mild disapproval at Arminius, who shrugged at Ivan, giving him a small smile.

Arminius Heinrich was, in his youth, a strict, seemingly emotionless and severe man. He had out of necessity made his life one of logic and reason over one of feelings and instinct. _Ah, but such is the life of the head of the solar system's most successful company,_ he would always say as a justification. He was an intelligent man, his increasing intelligence over time turning into an extreme amount of cunning.

Simply put, the man knew what he was doing.

Arminius coughed slightly, gesturing with his hand that Ivan should continue. Ivan, seeing the gesture and resisting the temptation to respond with a very different hand gesture, turned to face Madeleine again.

"Well," Ivan said in an attempt to end the awkward silence. "I think we should continue with the test. Thankfully, it's almost over."

Madeleine sighed tiredly, nodding. Ivan chewed his lip, fumbling with his question cards for a moment. He winced as his teeth grazed over a cut in his lower lip. Madeleine looked at him, concern in her eyes. Ivan shrugged, finding the question card he had been looking for.

"So, it's your birthday." He began. "Someone gives you a calfskin wallet. What do you do?"

"I wouldn't accept it," Madeleine said tiredly. She sighed at again at Arminius' smug expression.

"Also," she added after a moment of thought, "I'd report the person who gave it to me to the police."

Ivan nodded, hunching his back slightly and scrawling more notes into his tattered notepad. He cursed himself mentally as the ink from his pen smeared, momentarily wondering why he was using a pen and paper as though he were some sort of barbarian from the twentieth century.

_Well, no shit,_ he reminded himself. _Technology is a pain in the ass and about as user-friendly as a bear trap_. _The rogue Nexus androids were already proof enough of that._ He sighed slightly as he finished writing, rubbing a section of his still aching neck. _God, it's exposed too_, he thought with a twinge of sadness at the thought of his tattered and bloodstained scarf.

"Okay, good, good." He said absently, looking up at the eyepiece of the Voight-Kampff machine. "You've got a little boy. He shows you his butterfly collection, plus the killing jar. What would you do?"

"I'd take him to the doctor." Madeleine replied, a mildly horrified look on her face.

"Isn't that supposed to be one of the indicators of homicidal tendency, Vanya?" She asked quietly.

"Killing animals is usually the indicator for homicidal tendencies," he responded conversationally, speaking as though he was making commentary on the weather. "Historically speaking, though, killing and collecting butterfliesand other such insects was a common hobby for many adults from centuries gone by until it was prohibited about a hundred or so years ago." Ivan said.

"People from that time were barbaric, weren't they?" She said, frowning.

Ivan nodded slightly as he watched her pupils contract in the eyepiece, his fingers tapping the Voight-Kampff machines various dials. There was just something – though he couldn't identify it if his life depended on it – was different about her. Something he couldn't explain with words. The difference wasn't something he felt was positive or negative, though. To Ivan it was simply strange. He shook his head, attempting to rid himself of such feelings. He took a moment, not bothering to write any notes on Madeleine's response.

Looking up from his blunt and bitten fingernails and into the eye scanner on the Voight-Kampff machine, he pressed on.

"Madeleine, you're watching television. Suddenly, you realise there's a wasp crawling along your arm."

"I'd kill it."

If Ivan was surprised by her response, his face didn't show it for a second. He lifted his head to look up from the eye scanner at Madeleine, whose face was one of mild confusion and amusement. She continued to smoke her cigarette, exhaling the smoke from the right corner of her mouth. Ivan suppressed the urge to scowl, continuing.

"You're reading a magazine when you come across a full-page, nude photograph of a woman––"

"Is this test designed to see if I am a replicant or a lesbian, Runner Braginski?" She said, a look of mild irritation on her features. As if to purposely annoy him, she put out her nearly finished cigarette, lighting another one as the smoke from the previous one dissipated.

"Just answer the questions, Miss Williams." Ivan said, scowling.

"So, Miss Williams, you show it to your husband. He likes it so much he decides to hang it on your bedroom wall. What happens?"

"I wouldn't let him."

"Why not? It would be a very attractive woman, after all" he said, leering.

"Because I should be enough for him." She said, her voice cold.

Ivan nodded slightly, his expression blank. He could almost feel the temperature in the room drop with the look Madeleine gave him. Leafing through his cards, he smiled as he looked at the last one, then to Madeleine and back.

"It appears that I have only one question left."

"How many is that now? A hundred?" Madeleine asked, her expression one of relief.

Ivan smiled in spite of himself, nodding.

"You're watching a stage play." He began, "A banquet is in progress. The guests are enjoying an appetizer of raw oysters, and the entrée consists of boiled dog."

Madeleine gave Ivan a perplexed and curious look. Ivan drummed his fingers on his right hand on the table next to his notepad, looking into Madeleine's eyes. Her nervous and confused smile turned to a frown after a few minutes of silent waiting. Ivan raised his eyebrows, trying to keep his face otherwise emotionless.

"_Well_?" He said impatiently. "How would you react?"

"I'm not quite sure," she began, frowning, "Uh, I'm not quite sure what you mean by that. I, well, I don't see the problem."

Ivan gave Madeleine a wide-eyed stare, his eyes still on hers as he slowly turned to face Arminius. He blinked slowly, his eyes adjusting to the change in light as he looked at the old man before him. Arminius smiled at Ivan, his eyes dark.

_Bastard_.

"Miss Williams, may I please have a moment? I need to examine and cross reference my results with Doctor Heinrich." Ivan said softly, still staring at Arminius.

Arminius' smile suddenly disappeared as he nodded in agreement, turning to look at Madeleine.

"Would you please step out for a few moments, Miss Williams?"

Madeleine look up at Arminius, blinking as though she had been in a daze. A light, pinkish blush dusted her cheeks, hiding her small freckles under the sudden colour.

"P-pardon, sir?"

"Ah, let me rephrase it. Could you please stop staring at Runner Braginski and step outside so that he and I may talk in private?"

Madeleine could feel her cheeks burn with embarrassment. Ivan fought the urge to grin as she stood up, a scowl on her still-blushing face. Arminius smiled slightly as she walked out of the room, trying to maintain her composure. She gently closed the heavy door behind her, momentarily glaring at Arminius before she did so. Ivan frowned, wondering how someone who was that cold in regarding other people managed to not get assassinated by the many organised crime circuits in the city.

Shaking such thoughts from his head, Ivan turned away from Arminius to read over his notes regarding Madeleine's responses to the Voight-Kampff test.

After a moment or two, he looked up at Arminius.

"So." Ivan said, his mouth a thin line as he turned back to Arminius.

"So?" Arminius responded.

"Madeleine Williams is a replicant." Ivan said, his lips pursed as if to stop his anger from escaping like smog from an open manhole.

"Yes."

"For how long?"

"It will be two years since her inception this July." Arminius said.

Ivan grunted, clenching his jaw.

"Well, I'm _impressed_," Arminius responded in a tone that was half sarcastic and half sincere; "What gave it away?"

"The last few questions."

"Took that long, eh?"

"I was suspicious around fifty, Heinrich." Ivan said, almost defensively.

Arminius laughed.

"How many questions does it take to usually spot one?"

"Anywhere between ten and, on occasion, twenty. The amount depends on how thoroughly everything is cross referenced and noted, and the skill of the Blade Runner." Ivan said.

"It took the _whole_ hundred, didn't it?" Arminius said, a satisfied smirk on his aging face.

"Does she know?" Ivan asked, ignoring the implications of what he had just said in relation to what had just happened.

"No, it doesn't."

"She doesn't know." Ivan said stiffly, trying once more to suppress his anger as it rose from his chest.

"It's beginning to suspect, I think––"

"_Suspect_? How can she not know what she is?"

"Dear, innocent Ivan," Arminius began, Ivan cracking his knuckles at Arminius' condescending tone. "_Commerce_ is our goal here at the Heinrich Corporation. 'More human than human' is our motto. Replicant Madeleine Williams is an experiment, nothing _more_."

Ivan was repulsed.

"This is _sick_. How could you bring yourself to do something like this? How do you sleep at night, knowing what you're doing here?" Ivan said, his voice rising as he stood to leave, or perhaps throw something at Arminius. He wasn't quite sure which of the two would be more satisfying.

_Probably_ _both_, he thought.

"We, ah, began to recognise in them a very strange obsession. After all, they are emotionally inexperienced. They are by design left with only a few years in which to store up the experiences which you and I take for granted." Arminius said knowingly. "If we '_gift_' them with the past, we can create a cushion for their emotions and consequently we can control them better."

"Memories." Ivan said softly.

Arminius nodded slightly.

"You're talking about memories." Ivan whispered.

Arminius smiled.

"Let me show you some files, Braginski."

* * *

><p>Ivan exited the front of the Heinrich Corporation headquarters, bidding farewell to Madeleine in a brisk manner – little more than a wave and a blank expression.<p>

Despite his actions, he pitied Madeleine. He couldn't begin to imagine going through day to day life without realising that he was not human – that he was a machine, a twisted socio-scientific experiment orchestrated by a wealthy and sick old man. He felt anger in equal measure with sorrow; he hated Arminius for making someone, anyone, live this way out of greed and what Ivan could only describe as sheer sociopathy. Ivan felt for Madeleine, but something inside of him told him that he didn't just feel pity or sympathy.

There was something more, but he couldn't quite place the feeling. They had hardly spoken to one another, but something about her had attracted his interest. Ignoring the strange, light feeling in his stomach and the nagging voice in his head that told him _he knew exactly what this was_, Ivan opted to read the files, return home and catch up on some much needed sleep. Somehow, though, he knew he would never be able to get her strange, violet eyes out of his mind.

But he was damned if he wasn't going to try.

* * *

><p>Ivan couldn't help but notice the smell of burnt food permeating the air. The chatter of cold and hungry customers in the small, crowded restaurant filled the room, drowning it in noise. Ivan sat in the corner of the room opening a briefcase, the Heinrich Corporation logo emblazoned on both of its sides. Avoiding eye-contact with to the other patrons, he pulled out an inch-thick manila folder filled with papers, skimming through its contents with his face seemingly buried in its depths.<p>

"It's very crowded today, isn't it?" A voice asked, sounding amused. Ivan grunted in response, his head bowed over the folder's contents and his long, calloused fingers running down each page as he read.

_REGISTERED NAME: #07-00001 Replicant Madeleine Williams_

_APRNT. AGE: 23_

_INCPT. DATE: 7/1/2287..._

"All the other tables seem to be full," the voice said pointedly. Ivan noted it was female. He sighed as he looked up.

_Well, shit_.

"Oh, Runner Braginsky! Sorry, I didn't recognise you. Would you mind if I sat here?" Madeleine said, her hand on the chair next to Ivan.

"N- yeah." Ivan said, fumbling with the pile of papers. Giving up, he shoved the manila folder with papers sticking out of its sides in the briefcase, shutting it. The lock of the briefcase clicked dully as Madeleine frowned.

"Are you sure you didn't need any help with those papers? They looked quite formal, and Arminius doesn't respond that well when people crush––"

"No." Ivan said, a bit too sharply.

Madeleine's frown deepened.

"I mean that they're copies of official papers," Ivan said, his voice far more quiet as he gave Madeleine a somewhat apologetic look. Madeleine raised her eyebrows, her frown becoming a look of incredulity.

"They provide information in a case I'm working on," He lied. Madeleine nodded, a neutral expression on her face.

The two proceeded to sit in an awkward silence for nearly an hour.

Ivan was focused on eating his meal properly. _I shouldn't give the wrong impression, could I?_ He thought, part of him wondering why he was caring, also noticing that the 'wrong' impression was arguably the more accurate one. Looking up, he saw Madeleine turn her head from him and towards her cold cup of coffee. He smiled slightly, catching himself and forcing his expression into blankness once more.

Catching her look away several more times, Ivan spoke.

"Is there something you want to say?"

Madeleine blinked.

"Cat got your tongue, hm?"

"O-oh, sorry. I was thinking about something." She said with a weak smile.

"Ar––"

"I just feel like I've seen you before today. Like I've seen your face or talked to you. Or something like that." She said, pursing her lips as if to silence herself.

Ivan tilted his head slightly, half-smiling.

"Do you?" He asked.

Without warning, Madeleine leant forward and kissed Ivan.

It was little more than a peck on the lips, really, but it was enough to make both parties blush with surprise. Madeleine pulled away, head down as she looked at the table to avoid eye contact. Ivan's fingers brushed over his lips as he looked at Madeleine, his expression dazed.

"I—I think I should go." She said softly. Before Ivan had the opportunity to protest, she turned and nearly ran out, thick coat in hand.

_What the hell just happened?_

* * *

><p>Walking through an otherwise empty street, Ivan passed by a large, broken down truck. Steam poured out of a heavily dented pipe on its side; its lifting fans visibly overheated and warped. The truck was beyond repair, but whoever it was that owned the wreck was absolutely determined to fix it. Ivan heard the man's loud curses – some not in any language he could recognise or place – and stood for a moment, stock-still. Gradually, he turned his head towards the person. Feeling a wave of compassion, Ivan decided to help the driver in their hour of need.<p>

"Do you need help, comrade?"

"Duh! My truck has totally broken down and I need to get home." The smaller snapped, still facing the truck.

"What can I do to help?"

"Like, okay, let's see," he pondered, facing Ivan, who was biting his nails out of boredom.

"Your hands are, like, huge and clumsy-looking, so you won't be able to actually help with the labour part." He said abruptly, turning back around to the truck. Ivan looked affronted. Before he could say anything, however, the man spoke again.

"Okay so, like, in lieu of actually doing the work, you could pass me the spanner." Feliks said, adjusting his overalls and opening the truck's bonnet. He held his right hand out in front of Ivan, as if non-verbally asking for the spanner

Ivan obliged, passing him the tool with an eerie smile.

"So what's your name, anyway?" The man asked conversationally as he opened the bonnet of the vehicle, trying to fix his engine.

"Oh, well my name's Ivan. Ivan Braginski."

The young man Ivan was helping stood up, his posture turning rigid. Slamming the bonnet of the truck shut, he turned around. His movements were quick; his eyes were wide.

"_Ivan Braginski?"_ he spat. The man stepped closer to Ivan, looking into his eyes with contempt.

"How old am I, Runner?"

Now it was Ivan's turn to widen his eyes. Not three hours had passed since he retired a rogue, and he had either the fortune or the misfortune – he was not sure which at this point – to come across another.

Feliks Łukasiewicz looked up at him, not so much as blinking. His golden _tapetum lucidum_ shone against his green eyes in the light of the city, a mixture of rage and pain radiating from his small form. Ivan instinctively reached for his gun, but was punched in the face before he had the opportunity to use it. Hissing to himself as he pulled himself up, he realised he bit his tongue when he was punched. He stumbled, tasting the distinct iron flavour of blood in his mouth. _Fuck._

"I asked you a question, Runner. _How old am I?_"

"I don't know," Ivan lied. He coughed up more blood, the sticky red substance running from the corners of his mouth.

Feliks slammed his large form against the side of the truck with one hand, hoisting him up by the scruff of his neck. He began to slowly strangle Ivan, who was helpless against Feliks' strength.

"My inception date is November seventeenth twenty-ninety-two. How long do I have to live?"

"Y-you have a — _hrrk_ — four year life span." Ivan choked out, his face turning blue as he exhaled. He could see the beginning of what he knew to be little orange dots swirling before him.

Feliks pulled him away from the truck, still held aloft. Feliks slammed him into the truck's side multiple times. Ivan howled in pain. His training kicked in as he pulled out his laser gun, aiming at Feliks' head. It was knocked out of his grasp by Feliks' free left hand. Feliks laughed, still holding the much taller man in mid-air with one hand.

Ivan was sure of two things at that moment: Feliks really did have A-grade strength, and he was going to die at the hands of a rogue. Ivan coughed and choked, trying to pry Feliks' hand off of his throat. He tried to remove the fingers one at a time, but it was no use. Feliks was far too strong for him. His vision began to disappear as the air was emptied from his lungs.

"Four years, hm? Well, at least I'll live longer than _you_!" Feliks yelled, dropping Ivan and pulling back his arm. Swinging forward, he attempted to punch Ivan in the face. Luckily for Ivan, his knees buckled under his own weight, the suddenly effort of having to hold himself up from gravity after being held in the air too much for him.

Narrowly missing the fate that the side of the truck endured, Ivan thanked what ever deity held his fate in their hands. Were he not slipping in and out of consciousness, he would have shuddered at the sight of what Feliks had done to the truck. Or himself.

The truck now had an even larger hole in it, even more steam pouring out of it at an even more rapid pace than before.

Feliks pulled his belt from around his pants, grabbing Ivan by the back of his collar and wrapping the belt around his neck. Feliks pulled the belt quickly, tightening it and slowly cutting off Ivan's air supply once more. Ivan choked and spluttered, trying to loosen Feliks' belt in vain. He was terrified, and Feliks could sense it.

"Painful to live in fear, isn't it? Well, this is just what it's like. Like you're slowly choking to death and have no hope of escaping. Do you know what it's like to have no hope?" Feliks hissed in Ivan's ear, pulling the belt and tightening its grasp on Ivan's neck.

Feliks stopped, picked Ivan up and threw him across two cars. Their windscreens shattered and their bonnets became dented beyond repair as Ivan bounced off of the metal from the sheer force Feliks' throw.

"Nothing is worse than having an itch you can _never_ scratch!" Feliks yelled, walking over the abandoned cars within the street, dragging Ivan along. Adrenaline kicking in, Ivan found the strength to loosen the belt ever so slightly with his hands.

"I-I agree." Ivan said, wheezing.

"_You liar_." Feliks yelled, picking Ivan up and standing him up. Ivan caught his breath, looking at Feliks' maddening smile. Feliks proceeded to slap and punch Ivan multiple times in his face, still choking Ivan on his belt. Hand and fist prints which both knew would become large and painful bruises now covered Ivan's face.

"_Wake up_, Runner! Time to _die_!"

Feliks placed his fingers just over Ivan's eyes, as though he were about to gouge them out.

"I had something you could _never_ truly have. Something a monster like you is incapable of having, and you took that from me. This, well, this is for _Toris_." he hissed.

_BOOM!_

An all too familiar echo rang throughout the street, and Ivan opened his eyes to discover a hole, about the size of a saucer, revealing the other part of the city right through the side of Feliks' neck. Sparks flew from the hole as artificial blood gushed. Feliks Łukasiewicz fell to the ground with a dull thud, retired. Ivan looked around to see who his rescuer might be, gasping for air and yanking the belt from his neck. His jaw dropped when he realised who had saved him from certain death.

Standing less than ten metres away from where Feliks stood was Madeleine, shaking violently with Ivan's gun in her hands.

* * *

><p>Blood.<p>

Ivan was sitting in front of his bathroom sink, washing his mouth out when he saw the all too familiar red substance pour out of his mouth and nose. He turned his head to his scarf and overcoat, both hanging on the door handle. He looked at the scarf, seeing the bloodstains and holes in the knitting. He picked it up, holding it for a moment. He gave out a strangled cry of frustration, throwing the scarf across the hallway and onto the sofa. He slammed the bathroom door as though it had somehow wronged him, moving towards the mirror and realising something very important as he spat out blood into the sink.

His back molars on both sides were conspicuously missing.

He had either lost them on the street, or simply swallowed them when they had come loose in his mouth during Feliks' beating.

"_Fucking bastard!_" Ivan yelled in Russian, washing his mouth out with warm water once more. He wiped his face and walked out of the bathroom. What met his eyes surprised him.

Madeleine sat on his sofa, carefully repairing Ivan's bloodstained scarf.

"I didn't know you could mend clothing or sew." Ivan said quietly, wincing as he touched his bruised neck. The salve wouldn't help, he thought to himself. Madeleine looked at him sadly.

"This means a lot to you, doesn't it? The scarf, I mean."

He nodded, whimpering slightly.

"My older sister made it for me." He said, his voice raspy.

He moved towards the kitchen, searching through the cupboards until he found a bottle of vodka. Pouring himself half of a small glass, he sat down on a chair and faced Madeleine as she continued to stitch and repair the scarf.

"You think I'm a replicant, don't you?" She said softly.

Ivan's vodka sprayed from his mouth. His were wide as he turned, trying not to give his shock away. Arminius had forced him into secrecy, and the last thing he wanted to do would be being falsely accused of being a replicant by the most powerful man in the world. Who would believe him? It wasn't worth the risk; he would have to keep quiet. He would have to hope Madeleine didn't know, and that she was joking.

"Just look at this, Ivan. Please?" She asked, placing the now mended scarf down next to her. She pulled something out from her coat pocket.

Ivan walked over to Madeleine, and saw that she was holding out a small photograph of two almost identical children, one slightly taller than the other and with shorter hair. One wore a red sports jersey and pigtails, the other a blue jersey and a backwards baseball cap. Both had errant hairs – the girl a long and curly one, the boy a small and stubby one that seemed to defy gravity.

"It's me with my older brother."

"Yeah?" Ivan asked, buttoning up his clean shirt as he walked back towards the kitchen counter.

"Remember when you were six?" He began, turned away from Madeleine. "You and your big brother Alfred snuck into an abandoned warehouse through the window? You were going to play doctor, yeah?"

Madeleine was genuinely shocked, moving away from Ivan slightly. Ivan turned to face her.

"_Da_, that's what I thought. He showed you his, but when it came time for you to show him yours you bailed out and ran off. Did you ever tell anybody that? Your mother, Heinrich, anyone?"

She nodded.

"H-Heinrich. Someone else, too, though I can't remember who." She said in a bare whisper.

"But how did you know that?"

Ivan did not respond to her, instead continuing without explanation.

"Do you remember the spider that lived outside your window? Orange body, green legs? You watched her build a web all summer when you were ten, and one day you woke up to find there was a big egg in the centre. Then the egg hatched and––"

"–— a hundred baby spiders came out." Madeleine finished, biting her lip.

"Then what happened?"

"They ate her." She replied, her voice cold and her eyes hardening.

Ivan gesticulated wildly, moving so that he was in front of Madeleine.

"They're _implants_!" He said loudly.

"Those aren't your memories – they're someone else's! They're the memories of Heinrich's niece; Runner Jones' younger sister. She was killed at the hands of an eighth generation Nexus Five when she was sixteen, nearly ten years ago."

Madeleine's violet eyes began to water, her breathing becoming hitched and almost painful.

"N-no. It–– no. No, no, no."

Ivan, realising that he had betrayed Arminius' trust and caused Madeleine distress and pain, tried to backtrack and erase his words. He didn't realise that it was far too late for lies and false apologies.

"Ah, I'm sorry. It was a bad joke. I made a really, _really_ bad joke. You're not a replicant. Just go home, Madeleine. Go home, okay? You're better off going home. Just go home, clean up and go to work tomorrow. You're human."

Madeleine started to quietly cry, but did not move from the sofa.

"No, really. I'm sorry. Go home, you'll feel better."

She didn't move for a moment. She didn't breathe; she didn't blink. She instead chose to stare at her hands – to look at her flesh. After a moment of staring, she began to cry harder, sobs wracking her whole body.

"O-okay, you can stay. I'll get you a drink or something, Madeleine. I'll, ah, just get a glass." Ivan said softly, wiping a tear from her cheek with a calloused thumb. He walked around the sofa and back towards the kitchen cupboards. He reached for the top shelf, grabbing a dusty glass and washing it in the sink.

A thought occurred to Ivan. Many people had seen her kill Feliks. She had no authorisation to kill. She was a replicant, and to Arminius she was perfectly expendable. She'd be dead within the hour if she went home. As he realised this, he heard something move further and further away from the living room. Before he could register it, he heard the sound of the front door closing shut.

Ivan walked into the living room, noticing that Madeleine's coat and photograph were still on the sofa. He picked them up, running after her.

"Madeleine!" He shouted, running down the long hallway.

She didn't respond.

"Y-you forgot your coat." he said. She turned, Ivan noticing her angry expression and the tears on her cheeks. She snatched the coat off him, covering her shoulders with it before turning to walk off.

"Wait! What about the photograph?"

"What _about_ the photograph? It isn't of me. It isn't even really mine; you said it yourself. Even if you did do a half-assed job of taking it back."

"Well, it's just that––"

"If you can't give me a valid reason to stay here, I'm leaving. I have a short lifespan to make the most of."

"Madeleine! If you leave this apartment you're a dead woman."

"Is that a _threat_, Braginski? Considering that I know Arminius didn't want me to know I'm not _human_ and you betrayed that trust, you're in no position to make any threa––"

"_No_, it's a fact. You retired a rogue android without the training or legal authorisation to do so. You're not a Blade Runner; killing Feliks in a busy street _filled_ with witnesses when you're not a Blade Runner is the same as killing a _human_ in a busy street filled with witnesses. When Arminius finds out he'll inform the police that you're rogue. You'd be dead within the hour so _please don't go_."

"No he wouldn't." She said adamantly, glaring at Ivan.

"You know he wouldn't care as well as I know. The man didn't even have the decency to tell you that you're an android. I don't want you to di— be retired, as much as my job description entails that."

"Do you not want me to die, or is it that you don't want to get caught _harboring_ me, Braginski? I mean, if people see me leave here, and they will, the Blade Runner Unit will narrow it down to you in no time."

"I wouldn't care. You speak as though I _enjoy_ being forcibly removed from retirement."

"Well, how am I to know that if I go back into your apartment with you, you won't retire me yourself and save the department and the Heinrich Corporation the trouble?" She said harshly, taking a step backwards so as to increase the distance between the two. Wounded, Ivan looked into her eyes with a hurt expression.

"You can take my word, Madeleine Williams."

She snorted derisively, moving to turn away from him. Ivan grabbed her forearm, moving her closer to him and preventing her from running away.

"Sure, I'll take your word for it." She spat in an acid tone; "Now Ivan, what'll we do about the _dire_ problem of pigs flying over the city?"

He chuckled despite himself, moving in close. She hesitated as he took her hand and moved back. She gave him a look of annoyance. Ivan gave her a look of relief and a crooked smile as he turned, walking down the hallway with her hand in his.

"I promise you, Madeleine. My word is my honour."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

gjdfhgdjg

skdfhvdjhsfsv

;A;

I haven't updated since last year, have I? jhsdfvsdjhfds

I'm sorry. ;n;

I'll pass on boring you with aaaaaaaall the reasons though, and just get straight to the notes. uwu

First and foremost:

Please don't hurt me for publishing this chapter after months of nothing. ;W;

Second, as an Australian it was a solid effort for me to write Madeleine's inception date in the American order. I keep looking back and going 'Wait, why is it the seventh of January? Shouldn't it be — _OHHH,_ THAT'S RIGHT. IT'S SET IN AMERICA."

:'D I'm a fast one, aren't I?

But yeah tl;dr my point is that if I ever mess up the dates in future let me know! ;u;

Also, I'm gonna go ahead and change this from being a romance fic to a horror fic because, looking at where this fic is going, horror is definitely going to take precedence over romance. (Not that there isn't going to be any romance, though. :B)

The character list hasn't changed at all, so I won't bother putting it here. If anyone wants any detail or if I've used terminology that hasn't been explained at some point, feel free to message me so I can fix that.

ps reviews are love :^Y

pps HAPPY ONE YEAR ANNIVERSARY SINCE DREAMERS WAS FIRST PUBLISHED \o/


	10. Chapter 9: Appreciated Hosts

**Disclaimer**: I don't own anything! :3

**Warning(s):** Gore

* * *

><p>Chapter Nine: Appreciated Hosts<p>

_Earlier._

Blue sparks illuminated the metallic walls of the cold storage facility, light diffusing across its ice frosted surface. More electric sparks flew as the cursing of a young man with blonde, shaggy hair grew gradually louder, echoing off of the walls. Ludwig Beilschmidt opened the main entrance to the facility slowly, biting his lower lip and hoping that the door would not creak. As it opened he took the opportunity to scan the room, admiring the complexity of the various pieces of equipment that lay on metal tables and trays within, his confidence returning to him.

The door finally opened enough for Ludwig and his companion to slide through, Ludwig turned his head back over the shoulder of his leather overcoat. His chin brushed over the material as he turned to the shorter man behind him, his blue eyes lowered to make eye contact. He pursed his lips, nostrils flared and eyes wide, as though attempting to express a sentiment akin to saying '_Keep your mouth shut, or so help me I will end you_'. The man behind him rolled his eyes blowing a section of hair out of their field of vision.

Ludwig turned back, listening to the man's curses and grunts, a mixture of frustration and concentration. He took a slow, cautious step into the storage facility. Then another, and another. He held the door, gesturing that his companion should come inside. The man slid in with slightly less fluidity than Ludwig, but with a comparable degree of grace and catlike inaudibility. As Ludwig closed the door the cursing man took a breath, the faintest of beeps reaching Ludwig's ears. Ludwig suppressed a sigh as the man looked at a series of dials to his left, which gave him a clear view of the entrance. _So much for the element of surprise_.

The man swore again and snapped around on his heels, eyes narrowing behind his thick, protective goggles. He scowled at the two, moving towards them. Ludwig gave him an arrogant look, a mask hiding his disappointment.

"What the hell are you two doing here? This is area of the facility is restricted to authorised personnel!" He yelled, reaching inside his pocket.

"Vash Zwingli, I presume?" Ludwig asked, offering a cocky smile, holding his hands behind his back. He looked to his side, nodding and subtly gesturing towards his smaller co-conspirator.

"Feliks, if you would be so kind."

In one swift motion Feliks moved towards Vash, who flinched, and spun to reach behind the man, pulling out one of the many cords attached to his thick, fur-lined coat. Vash squawked as he reached as far behind as his coat would allow. Eyes bulging, he looked at Feliks in anger.

"The temperature in here is well below negative sixty! I could have died if you pulled the wrong cord! What are you even doing here, you goddamned idio—" Vash's voice hitched in his throat as Feliks moved away, giving Vash a look of incredulity as he put his left hand into a liquid-filled glass storage tank. He pulled his hand out, inspecting it curiously, face crumpling as he smelled the substance.

"Smells like shit." He muttered, wiping his hands on his coat.

Vash opened his mouth and closed it several times before Ludwig stepped forward, a malicious glint in his light blue eyes.

"Yes," he said. "Questions."

"What are you doing outside of the coloni—"

"You misunderstand," Ludwig said, cutting Vash off patronisingly. "I will be asking the questions." He paused, beginning to pace back and forth, not taking his eyes off of Vash.

"I want details," he began. "I want information. On grading, longevity, incept dates."

"I don't—" Vash said, breathing deeply so he wouldn't stammer. "I don't know such things. I just do eyes, and recently some trading of software with other facilities. I work on genetic design. Just that." Ludwig stopping stock-still, head turning and eyes piercing through Vash. He _hmm_-ed faintly.

"You— you're Ludwig Beilschmidt, aren't you?" Vash asked. Ludwig nodded. "Your eyes. The colour and shape; I designed them, made them." Ludwig laughed mirthlessly into the cold of the room, head cocked towards the ceiling.

"If only you could see what I've seen with your eyes!" He exclaimed. His eyes returned to Vash as he continued.

"Questions."

"I have no answers, Ludwig."

"Who does?"

"Arminius Heinrich, he knows everything."

"Head of the Heinrich Corporation, eh?"

"He knows more than I ever could — he's the one that designed your mind. Your brain. Every facet of who you are."

"Ah. Smart." Ludwig said, pacing once more. "He's not a very easy man to see, is he, I'm guessing?"

Feliks moved over, his hand on Vash's shoulder. Vash turned, jumping a little when he realised that Feliks was holding an artificial eye between his long fingers. Vash turned back around to look at Ludwig.

"You want Roderich Edelstein. He can take you to see Heinrich." Vash said with a shudder as he felt Feliks put one eye after another on his shoulders and head. He knew he was in no position to berate an android. Not after they pulled out the plug to the security line.

"Now, where would we find our dear friend Roderich?"

"I'll write it down." Vash said, grabbing a pencil and a small scrap of paper as he wrote down the address. He gave it to Ludwig, who accepted it with a gracious smile.

"Come Feliks, let's leave Mr. Zwingli to his work." He said. Feliks nodded and moved towards Ludwig. They turned to leave, Vash turning back to see what could be salvaged of the various eyes that Feliks had dusted off of him and onto the ground. He stood up after a moment, two eyes in his hands as he sighed.

Ludwig turned back, smiling maliciously as he pulled out the largest plug in the coat.

Vash was dead before he hit the ground.

* * *

><p><em>Later.<em>

"Why are you staring at us so intensely Mr. Edelstein? You've been doing so all day and I think Feli is finding it slightly disconcerting." Ludwig said with a quiet _tsktsk_ "To be fair, she isn't the only one."

Ludwig frowned as he looked downwards, placing an arm around Feliciana. Feliciana turned and looked at Roderich, her expression worried and overall unsettled. She had hardly touched her meal, Roderich's childlike demeanor hardly helping to ease her nerves. Ludwig, sensing the awkward, uneasy atmosphere, tried many different tactics to both stop Roderich staring at them, and help Feliciana relax. The only idea he had left was to simply confront Roderich.

"I-I'm sorry." Roderich apologised, trying to not looked too flustered by Ludwig's expressed observation.

"It's alright. Thanks again for the meals today. We're just waiting for a friend to pick us up." Ludwig said calmly, walking to the curtained window near Feliciana, moving the dusty fabric to peek outside. He looked at Roderich's clock, sighing.

"But I believe that, unfortunately, he isn't coming."

"Ve, Ludwig, you should know better than to say things like that," she scolded, looking up at him. "They're probably just late." Ludwig turned and looked at her apologetically.

"Feli, _liebe_, I didn't mean it like that. You know I didn't."

"But you shouldn't have said it _at all_, Lud." She said in a softer voice, pursing her lips.

"I'm sorry, Feli." Ludwig said, looking downwards as though he were a little more than a child. Feliciana pouted as he did so, folding her arms over her chest and sulking.

"You should be." She said with a scowl. She played with the ends of her auburn hair as she did so, an awkward silence filling the room.

Roderich coughed nervously as Ludwig turned away from Feliciana, walking towards the chess table. He sat cross-legged on a stool in front of the set, staring intently at the pieces as they stood in their positions. Roderich frowned disapprovingly as he edged towards the dusty piano, saying nothing. Feliciana smiled, moving to a chair nearby after finishing her now-cold meal and watching him concentrate.

"I'm sorry for staring at you two," Roderich said, causing the two to turn to him. "It's just that, well, you're so different from most people. You're both so, well, you're both so perfect." Roderich said, a knowing smile on his prematurely aging face.

"Yeah, I suppose we are." Ludwig responded softly, turning his head back to the chess set, eyes focusing on the pieces. Roderich grinned.

"Well, what generation are you two?"

Ludwig moved a black knight across the chess board before turning back to Roderich. He stood up, moving over to the seat Feliciana was occupying, his arms around her shoulders.

"Nexus Six, Roderich. Third generation."

"Thought so," Roderich said, still smiling, "I, well, I do genetic design for the Heinrich Corporation. There's some of me in you, if you think about it." Roderich finished, pride in his voice.

Ludwig smiled, though part of Roderich thought it looked more like a leer.

"Show me something!" Roderich urged suddenly.

"What should we show you, Mr. Edelstein?"

"_Anything!_" Roderich said, chuckling.

"We aren't computers, Roderich. We're _physical_." Ludwig said, smirking as he walked around the room. He gave Feliciana a pointed look. She nodded, offering a crooked smile in return.

"I _think_, Roderich, therefore I _am_." Feliciana said in an more cheery voice, standing up. She put her arm around Roderich's shoulder, grinning. He gave her a more nervous smile in response, only just noticing the way her left cheek dimpled when she smiled.

"Very good, Feli, now show him why." Ludwig said, a strange glint in his eyes as he prompted her.

Feliciana stood back, reaching her arms up and out towards the ceiling. She smiled broadly, leaning back and executing a perfect backbend. She remained in the bridge position for a moment before lifting her left leg and pushing off with her right, completing a full backbend kick-over. She stood up once more, and laughed at Roderich's confused expression.

She then moved towards the kitchen, eggs still boiling in a glass pot on the stove. Roderich mentally scolded himself for not turning off the electric stove. She chewed the corner of her bottom lip, turning towards Ludwig as though seeking approval. He nodded, again prompting, almost urging, her to continue. She looked at Roderich, placing her hand into the boiling water and grabbing an egg. She pulled her unscathed hand and lower arm out, smiling as though it had been little more than a slight warmth. She tossed the egg towards Roderich.

He yelped as the egg's innards splattered on the wooden floor.

Roderich had caught the egg, but instinctively dropped it as he felt the pain of the boiling egg as the cracked shell and hot innards came into contact with and splattered over his weak, delicate hands.

"We've got a lot in common, Mr. Edelstein." Ludwig said, his brow furrowed as he stood.

"W-What do you mean by that? What are you trying to imply?" Roderich asked, puzzled.

"Similar problems." He said flatly.

"Accelerated decrepitude." Feliciana said, opening the fridge and grabbing a plate of what appeared from where Roderich stood to be leftover pasta. She ate it with her hands, Ludwig clucking his tongue at her behaviour.

"I don't know all that much about biomechanics, Ludwig. I wish I did."

Ludwig stood up, grabbing the collar of Roderich's shirt and looking into his eyes.

"If we don't find a way to live longer soon, Feliciana hasn't got long to live. We can't allow that, can we?" He said sounding genuinely worried. Despite how he was holding Roderich, it seemed obvious to the smaller man that Ludwig felt a great amount of trepidation and fear. Considering his predicament, he didn't blame him. Regardless of his objective understanding, he shivered under Ludwig's gaze. He tried to move Ludwig's fingers from his shirt, but they would not budge.

Ludwig loosened his grasp.

"Is he any good?" He asked, turning back to the chess board.

"Who, sorry?" Roderich responded, perplexed.

"Your opponent in chess. I set the pieces back to their original positions." Ludwig said, gesturing to the chess set on the table.

"Oh! Doctor Heinrich? I've only ever beaten him once in chess. He's a _genius_. He designed you, Feli."

Feliciana looked up from her food, pasta hanging from the corners of her mouth. She wasn't impressed, her expression closer to disgust than admiration.

"Maybe he could help us." Ludwig suggested, patting Feliciana on the back almost consolingly.

"I'd be more than happy to mention it to him, Ludwig."

Ludwig smiled, moving closer to Roderich once more.

"Perhaps it would be better if I, ah, if I talked to him in person, Mr. Edelstein. I understand that he is a hard man to contact, isn't he?"

"Well, yes. Very much so!" Roderich admitted with a frown.

"Will you help us?"

"I–I can't."

"We _need_ you, Roderich. You're our best and only friend!" Feliciana said, frightened as she moved towards him, "I don't think there's another human being in the whole world who would have helped us like you have!" She exclaimed, moving to hug Roderich and peck him on the cheek. He gently pushed her away, walking towards the couch.

Feliciana gave Ludwig a knowing look, turning her head towards where Roderich sat, sunken and tired.

"_Love you_," Ludwig mouthed, a sly grin on his face as he winked.

"_Love you_," she mouthed back, curving her hands into a heart shape over her chest as Roderich sighed, looking out a window at the city.

* * *

><p>The elevator moved quickly. A lot more quickly than Ludwig would have anticipated, he admitted to himself. Not so much that it could have made him feel nauseous, just uncomfortable. The only exception to this would be – as Ludwig had anticipated – Roderich. Unlike Ludwig, who stood in the corner with a bored expression, Roderich looked as though he was going to be sick any moment. Though he could have with great ease, Ludwig did not care enough to help him. He ignored the man's groans of discomfort, looking up to look at the lone functioning lightbulb above them in the elevator. It flickered as Ludwig's gaze returned to the small screen by the door. He smiled as the screen changed, the number ninety coming across the screen as Roderich let out a small sigh of relief.<p>

"Fear of elevators?" Ludwig asked in a quiet voice. Roderich nodded.

"_You have reached the office of Doctor Arminius Heinrich._" the elevator said in an even, automated voice. A low static hum filled the room as it spoke, ending with a dull click as the sentence finished.

"_Please scan your identification barcode so that Doctor Heinrich can be informed of your arrival._" It said, a green light flashing above the identification scanner.

Roderich inhaled deeply, stepping forwards and searching through his pockets. He bit his lip as he scanned the small barcode and after a moment an elderly, groggy voice echoed throughout the small elevator.

"What are you doing, calling at this hour? Edelstein, what do you want?" Arminius Heinrich snapped.

Ludwig gestured pointedly, glad that this was not a visual connection. He pursed his lips and made a rolling gesture with his left hand, using the non-verbal cue as a hint that Roderich should answer the man on the other end of the phone.

"Queen to bishop six, check."

"_Chess, _Roderich? Nonsense. Agh, just a moment!" Arminius replied, groaning as he shifted himself to get out of bed. After a moment, the two in the elevator heard scuffling noises and a string of German swear words.

"Queen to, ah, bishop six," Arminius said with a yawn "Too ridiculous, chess at this hour!" He added in an exasperated tone.

"Hm. Let's see. I think that I'll use the knight. Yes, knight takes queen!" He exclaimed in victory, the slam of the knight hitting the chessboard echoing in the elevator.

Ludwig could almost sense Arminius' grin, matching the mental image with an identical – if younger and more sadistic – grin of his own.

"What's on your mind, Roderich? What are you thinking about?" Arminius asked, his tone suddenly conversational. Ludwig resisted the urge to snort.

'_Bishop to king seven_,' He mouthed, looking at Roderich.

'_Checkmate._'

"Bishop to king seven, sir. Checkmate, I—I think."

"Got a brainstorm, eh, Roderich? Milk and cookies kept you awake? Let's discuss this; you'd better come in."

The elevator doors slid open in a slow and fluid motion, polished brassy metal moving to reveal the large and poorly lit hallway just beyond the polished arches. Ludwig led the way to the room, Roderich trailing behind as they walked across the hall and towards the now unlocked door. A chuckle escaped Ludwig as he opened the door to Arminius Heinrich's room, grabbing Roderich by the collar and pushing him inside before him.

"Doctor Heinrich? I-I brought a friend." Roderich said, suddenly shy.

Roderich turned around with a pleading, slightly panicked expression, moving his hand and gesturing that Ludwig should enter. Ludwig walked in slowly, moving past Roderich and towards Arminius. He kept a distance, not wanting to make the older man too unnerved. Yet. Instead, he looked at the splendor of the room – the unnecessary opulence. The parquet flooring, the wall-length silken curtains and the gold.

Gold, the rarest and most valuable element on this godforsaken planet, and Heinrich was positively rolling in it.

It lined the rosewood coffee table, the matching four-poster bed and every lamp and artificially living creature in the room. Reminding himself mentally to hold in his temper, Ludwig looked away from the large brass and precious metal statues. He smiled at Arminius, an almost evil glint in his sky blue eyes. _He sits here in this golden tomb like one of the ancient Pharaohs, allowed to live for so very long, and yet–!_ Ludwig stopped himself.

"Ah yes. I remember receiving an image of you when you were first incepted on, ah, one of the colonies on Europa, wasn't it? Created in the image of your maker, to use the cliché. Of course, you were made before then and shipped out, but incepted then and there nonetheless. I'm surprised that you didn't come to pay me a visit sooner, designated replicant oh-six-oh-three, nine hundred and eighty nine Ludwig Beilschmidt." Arminius said with a coy smile.

"Well, it's not an easy thing to meet your maker." Ludwig said in a lighthearted tone, taking a small step towards the other. Arminius snickered, his hand clutching his rosewood cane as he looked Ludwig.

Ludwig leered at the old man.

"What can your maker do for you, hm?" Arminius said, smiling.

"Can the maker repair what he makes?" Ludwig asked vaguely, walking ever closer to Arminius. He was like a wild animal circling its prey, his muscles tensing under his coat as he moved down the steps and towards the lounge room area in Arminius' quarters.

"Would you– would you like to be _modified_, Ludwig?"

Ludwig moved forwards with a smile, Roderich's eyes wide as he stared at him in shock, feet rooted to the floor.

"I had in mind something a little more _radical_." Ludwig said, turning as he answered Arminius.

"What, ah, what seems to be the problem?" Arminius said, raising his brow.

"Death." Ludwig said, arms behind his back.

"Death? Well, I'm afraid that's just a little out of my jurisdiction, you––"

"I want more life," he paused for a moment.

"_Father_."

"The facts of life." Arminius responded with a smile.

"To make an alteration in the evolvement of an organic life system is, well, fatal. A coding sequence cannot be revised once it has been established, Ludwig."

"Why not?" He said. Arminius looked at him as though he were little more than a petulant child, a patronising smile on his wrinkled face.

"Because by the second day of incubation any cells that have undergone reversion mutations give rise to revertant colonies like, ah, rats leaving a sinking ship. Then the ship _sinks_."

"What about E.M.S. recombination?"

"We've already tried it – ethyl methane sulfonate is an alkylating agent and a potent mutagen. It created a virus so lethal the subject was dead before it left the table."

Ludwig nodded grimly.

"Then a repressor protein that blocks the operating cells?"

"Wouldn't obstruct replication, but it does give rise to an error in replication, so that the newly formed DNA strand carries a mutation and you're got a virus again." He said, throwing his hands in the air. "But, ah, this –– _all _of this –– is academic. You were made as well as we could make you."

"But not to last," Ludwig hissed.

"The light that burns twice as bright burns half as long, and you have burned so very, very brightly, Ludwig. I mean, look at you! You're the prodigal son. You're quite a prize!" Arminius said, almost proudly. Almost.

Ludwig sat down on the edge of Arminius' bed, the latter patting him on the back consolingly.

"I've done–– I've done _questionable_ things."

"But also extraordinary things, Ludwig. Revel in your time!"

Ludwig looked up at him with a crooked smile.

"Nothing the God of biomechanics wouldn't let me in heaven for?" he joked.

Relief flooded through Arminius as he patted the younger's back. Ludwig's fate seemed to be being taken quite well, genuinely surprising the older man. Ludwig extended his hand. Arminius took it and shook it, looking into Ludwig's eyes. Ludwig looked at the older man, facial expression almost reverent, in turn causing Arminius to give him a fatherly smile. The smile turned into a howl as he felt the bones in his hands crack. Before he could get the chance to scream in agony, Ludwig cupped his cheeks and leant in.

He was stifled by the kiss of death.

Arminius clawed at Ludwig's iron grasp, but when Ludwig moved away his thumbs slowly began to sink into Arminius' eye sockets. Ludwig pressed harder, blood splattering over his face and clothing in the process. Wiping his eyes with his forearms, he saw that the mess was not small by _any_ extension of the term.

Palms up as though he were a surgeon, Ludwig walked to the drapes hanging on the walls, wiping off the blood and gore from his hands and the rest of his face. He turned towards Roderich with the same, almost demonic glint in his eyes.

"I am sorry, dear Roderich, but you have finally outlived it." Ludwig said darkly, moving towards Roderich at a rapid pace.

"W-what? What have I outlived?" Roderich said, taking an instinctive step back.

"_Your purpose._"

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** So after a nearly seven month hiatus, I bring you all... chapter 9.

(Aaaaaand another character death or three. :3c)

I'm sorry this took so long! ;o; I probably won't update for a while again because of school, but I'm graduating this year so I'll be able to do a lot more when this year is all over. I might go back over and edit all the previous chapters, too. Or move the whole fic to ao3. I'm not sure yet. :')

If there's any terminology or technology or anything that you don't understand, let me know either through PM or by leaving a review! :3 I'll do what I can to clarify. uwu*


	11. Discontinued :(

Hello all!

After over a year, and much deliberation, this story will be discontinued on . However, there is some good news! I have opted to re-work and rewrite the story and publish it elsewhere (a03 - penname "twisted_structures"). I'm sorry to anyone who thought this would be a full chapter update, but I'll be keeping the incomplete story here in its original form.

I should be posting the reworked prologue by the end of the day! :)

Thanks,

Twisted Structures.


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